Transition Anchor
by Chelsee
Summary: Survival and loss, dealing, adaption. Anticipation and dread -- Those Hidden in the Leaves, sitting on the edge of no tomorrow.
1. Part One

The setting of this story is not long after Naruto and Sasuke's fight on the hospital roof; for the sake of story, Sasuke has not run away from the Konoha Village to join Orochimaru.

Bleh.

* * *

**Transition Anchor  
Part One**

"So."

The man adjusted his headband. There were a lot of people in this world, most he had never met, many he likely would never meet. Few gave him the notion to be intimidated. But this woman? Yeah. She could be absolutely frightful.

"I don't know." He said. Because he didn't know. He stuck his hands in his pockets; posture, expression, voice tone -- they spoke indifference. "He's alive. It was mostly exponential luck, but we can't complain."

She was kneading her forehead, skewing the diadem-shape located in her central brow. He considered taking a step back; she kept a cool head, but in particular moods was rather volatile. "He can't keep surviving on luck, Kakashi. None of us can."

He smiled, which was only notable through the single eye visible on his face, "Isn't luck what it all boils down to, Hokage-sama? Every good gambler knows that."

When she didn't take up the challenge to answer, he took it as signal to exited the room. Best not to tempt fate anyway...

* * *

The tingling, prickly sensation of a waking body. Fuzzy mind and... aching head... Damn. Ow. He was lackadaisical and careless, but even he knew the procedure for regaining consciousness in an unknown situation. First... and... foremost: Check for injuries.

The left side of his face was swollen (hn, nothing permanent there, no worries. Moving on)... possibly a few crushed knuckles (that was more concerning; there was implication then that he'd been fighting, then?)... Crap; his left ankle might be broken. _Might_. No need to panic yet. Um. He'd twisted it... running. Tree jumping, actually. No. No, no, it was roof-jumping.

His eyes slipped open to the rather familiar ceiling of the Leaf Hospital. Which meant he was safe. Or... had been saved by someone else. Crap. Beatings he could deal with. Death... well, he wasn't terribly afraid of much. But being indebted to someone -- that, he didn't tolerate very well. Yes, yes, he was remembering a bit more now, and there was a powerful voice in his mind telling him to relax and stay still so his body could heal. As he'd been doing quite a bit of lately.

... this was, what, the third time this month?

"Dammit!" He hurled his pillow across the room, where, judging from the sound, it overturned a tray of utensils. He lay there, quaking, glaring at the light above him. Silence. Crap. "Dammit!" Now other pains were taking shape from the abrupt movement. Swollen joints, rather stiff. Perhaps he'd been slammed into a few things before losing consciousness? "Dammit!" Ah, that familiar burning of flesh shredded raw. So likely he'd also had the fun of skidding across a few unforgiving surfaces (rock? tree bark? no, no, he thought he was remembering cobblestone. Or was that another time?)

"_Dammit_!"

He thrashed for a while in impotent rage, twisting, a fish caught up in a net of sheets, accomplishing very little aside from stripping the bed, kicking the blankets off into a huddled mass on the floor. It would have been nicer to find someone sitting there. It would have been relieving for someone to grab him by the shoulders and force him down to the bed, make him be still so he wouldn't injure himself. 

No one was there, of course; there were things to be done, missions to fulfill, trades to trade, orders to be given and obeyed. For a short time, even the Genin apprentice groups had been disbanded to free up individuals for missions. Forces were spread thin. There wasn't time to visit a single lonely kid in a hospital. ... his friends probably didn't even know he was here, right? (... of the few people he was going to tentatively label friends, anyway...) It was possible... Sakura was in the next town over; the hotel district of the Hidden Leaf village. He thought she'd said that. And surely his sensei's Iruka and Kakashi were out and about on some important errand... Jiraiya wouldn't have come either way, being repelled by public places altogether (selfish bastard.)

... and Sasuke was likely still mad at him, prone to grudges as he was. For whatever reason. (They had run into each other a few times since the fight on the hospital roof, but the other had showed no feigned attempts at hospitality. The treatment was reciprocated.)

Damn. Though he loved attention, he wasn't yet willing to give up the life of one accustomed to solitude, and thus wouldn't admit so out loud, but he was severely beginning to miss the company of Team Seven. The interaction had been somewhat therapeutic. He'd never been forced to get along with others before; prior to graduation, the academy usually gave the option of teams, but he never bothered participating, since no one wanted him in their group and in all honesty he didn't exactly want to join them. But... he'd become accustomed to his fellow teammates.

Up to the point that Iruka sensei gave him his own headband, he'd accepted blindly that he was destined to be apart. He'd burned every figurative bridge available (among other more literal things -- heh, he'd gone through a short pyrotechnic stage, but the punishments had been too severe to be gratifying.) So the company of those he dared believe to be genuinely concerned about him would have been very comforting right now.

He wanted to be on a stupid mission. Not the more recent ones he'd had to do solo. He could handle people trying to kill him or kidnap him to torture on a later date or whatever it was they wanted with him so long as he was with people he could trust and talk to.

... damn. He wanted to storm across the town and slam Sasuke right in the face. Bastard, trying to ruin their comradery (since he wasn't dense enough to call it friendship exactly.)

Irritated and aching, he finally crossed his arms and sent his disapproving scowl into the world, wishing misfortune upon all.

Uh... this most recent attack... ah. Yes. Stupid renegade ninja. Akatsuki or whatever the hell they were called. It seems since that last unfortunate run-in with the older Uchiha brother (which he wouldn't be forgetting any time soon) he'd been dealing with underlings instead; Missing-nin, ferocious and determined. The Nine... he hadn't heard much from since.

So he wasn't top priority (yet? anymore? relief? indignation? bastards.) For now, he was fodder for hired Missing-nin of the Chuunin and possibly Jounin variety. And boy, was it starting to ache.

...

Shoot.

His pride was suffering as deftly and painfully the knowledge was sinking in that, clever and tricky as he was, it wouldn't have taken much for them to have killed him. His survival had been attributed to their ambition to get a hold of him still warm and alive. Or rather, still providing a warm, alive nest to house the Kyubi. It was getting unpleasantly obvious that they didn't particularly care if he was wholly in tact, however. If a broken ankle was the worst of his troubles, he would be grateful (last time they'd crushed a few ribs and both collar bones. )

Not prone to remain still (ever a body in motion) he tentatively tried sitting up. Ow. Hurt his stomach muscles but... yeah. Okay, it was tolerable. Try dangling his feet off the bed -- ooh, he felt _that_. Something had popped in his knee (he wasn't clear-minded enough to recall where each of these injuries came from. Terror and desperation tended to cloud the mind.) Slowly. Slooowly. He slid off the bed and onto his good foot. His shoulders and back strained under the weight of his body, and he was finding his neck rather sore.

Well! He was nothing if not a veteran to physical hardship!

Okay! Great, he could walk. Maybe the ankle wasn't broken after all -- either way, it was well wrapped. So he was mobile. He needed to go exploring. Screw sitting here and waiting for someone to come and tell him what happened (they never told him everything anyway, neglectful bastards.)

Limping...

Limping...

Ow, shit. Limping...

Out the door, down he hall, down a flight of stairs, another hall, possibly a little lost, thoughts jumbled...

There! Voices. Someone who could fill him in, yes?

He slowed down before pushing the door open, trying to recognize what voices were within (as, though he'd begun to trust a few people, he was still somewhat on pins and needles with the general Hidden Leaf populous and not looking forward to get a few solid cuffs and a lecture from an embittered villager in his current state.)

Oh! There was Iruka sensei's voice! That man above all others he would follow like a sheep and trust entirely with his life and safety... but still he held back. There was tention in his former instructor's tone; tension tempered by a pinched tone of respect. As dear as the man was, he was only a Chuunin, a _young_ one, and thus had a good few superiors to defer to.

He held his breath and pressed his ear to the door; there were many people in the room and all of their voices were overlapping, and somewhat hushed. Complete statements were hard to make out.

"-n't know for certain it was the Akatsuki-"

"-the issue isn't who it is, it's what do they _want_ with-"

"-whether he's a boy or not doesn't matter. If they do get ahold of him and harness the power of the Kyubi-"

"-it's a valid point; perhaps it was sentimental folly that he's been allowed to live-"

"-should all lower your tone; this is a private-"

"-not really interested in who is at fault; I've said from the _begining_ we were making a mistake in not ending the spirit's existance the instant it was in a body that could actually _be_ ended-"

"-'s true, though he's still young and petty now he's obviously still interested in destroying our happiness and peace-"

"-those horrible, destructive pranks of his-"

"-'re all being absurd -"

"-painted obscenities on the wall of my bathhouse-"

"-switched the road signs-"

"-have my _full_ confidence that he's entirely harmless-"

"-maybe at first, but he's becoming more dangerous. In these desperate times can we _afford_ an unstable element to the machinations of our society-"

"-look what he did to the Hyuuga boy! A genius amoung even the advanced bloodlines-"

"-could only be a short time before he starts-"

"-we've had this discussion millions of times before, you can't-"

"-this is _different_! Think for a moment, even if he _is_ truely innocent-"

"-Hah!-"

"-do you think they will do to him if they catch him? They'll try every means possible to remove that seal-"

"-one small body can't take a series of anti-seals, plus they'll likely try adding a few of their own for safety-"

"-worse than torture; his mind and body would be ripped to shreds-"

"-couldn't it be more _humane_ to simply-"

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, another quickly covering his mouth firmly to prevent the startled yelp forthcoming. His hand was already going to his thigh to retrieve a knife, which weren't there of course, since his weaponry had been removed along with his outter layer of clothes as standard procedure for patients in the hospital. Getting dragged down the hall, heels scraping on the hard ground. Damn it all to hell!

He'd resolved himself to bite when he was released on his own; he spun, curled little fist arcing along with him--

Of course he did no damange. He never was very good at reacting to surprises.

"You scared the hell out of me, Kakashi sensei!" He pulled his hand free from his instructor's, where it was being held stationary.

The single eye conveyed uselessly little, "It's unbecoming to eavesdrop, Naruto."

He wondered if there was someway to escape the man. He knew which pouch Kakashi kept his smoke bombs; if he could just snag one... Yeah right, and somehow escape on his mangled foot, already aching, from a Jounin level ninja. So he spat, "I think I should be allowed to hear when they're talking about me. Do you know what they were even saying? They want to kill-"

The angular man only rubbed his chin disinterested, gaze slipping off to examine a poster encouraging hygene, and said bluntly, "They've been having debates like that for the past twelve years. It's not even an official meeting, so stop worrying." He offered a irritating smile, "Besides, even if they did manage to rally a meeting, it would be... a very large debate. It would mean involving every competant Leaf Ninja's opinion, and you don't just have Iruka and me in your defense. They won't dare act on anything without the Hokage's consent."

There wasn't much one could respond to that with. He wasn't terribly happy, but in all honesty not entirely surprised to know there were also conspirators against him much closer to home. Thank goodness the Third and now Fifth Hokage spoke in his _favor_...

"Come on, then, if you're well enough to be up let's get your things. I'll walk you home."

He jerked his shoulder out of the man's reach, "I can get home by myself."

Expectant stillness.

"... Oh." It took valiant effort to keep his shoulders from slumping. It wasn't a matter of company. It was a matter of insuring he actually _reached_ home, for the safety of the village. _Kakashi... you... can kiss my ass._

The damn Jounin didn't bother to respond; useless mass of flesh and bone. He wondered sometimes about this man; wondered about his motives -- attached as he'd personally gotten, there was an eternal air of formality that left him distanced. It wasn't blatant disreguarde, just... a reminder, through ever word and action, that he was nothing more than a student. On a good day, maybe a comrad. On a bad day: little more than a responsibility. But in all cases, not a friend.

Well. He could just go to hell, anyway.

Fists balled in pockets, he marched appropriately down the hall, doing his best to ignore the rather silent echo of his footsteps behind him. He would have muttered but didn't want to open an invitation for his escort to try talking to him. Crap.

* * *

Through the trees, at rapid speed; higher, above the branches, sailing through the air, now. Up, up, until it's all a long field of broccoli below. Faster, still; breaking all known records of traveling the Earth, and then still within the life-giving reach of the atmosphere. Land and water rush by, for miles and miles.

Finally, far beyond the lush reach of the Hidden Leaf shinobi, over a chain of mountains that form a natural barrier against potential rain, is spread a vast, wide desert of sun-bleached sand. Perhaps at one time it had been a sea, leaving behind a glittering of salt that burns the eyes of an ill-preparted traveler. The terrain changes little as it whips by, the endless rise and fall of unforgiving dunes until...

There. A large, abrasive stony wall of cliffs. Scale the outside and stop before you plummet to your death -- _look down_ at a very sudden, devastating drop. It's a naturally made wall, and nestled deep down, as far as the eye can see, partially protected by the rocky shade for most of the day, is the colony of Those Hidden in the Sand.

A more gradual descent down the inner slope; where long series of stairs have been carved -- archers could stand along the rugged wall and easily pick off approaching attackers.

Lazily drift by over the clay roof tops of the dwelling, look there: a well, with a thick lid to pull over it when the sun hits its scorching zenith. The village, warped in vision by the heat rising from the streets, looks abandoned. Most have retreated indoors for this excruciating portion of the day. A dog, it's flanks hot, lays on its side in the meagre shade of a house.

Travel these forsaken streets, hearing snatches of lazy voices drifting through windows thrown vainly open, hoping to coax a breeze inside.

At the center of the village now; a tall structure, pillars supporting its four corners. Here sits the new Kazikage, leader of the Sand, and he is trembling.

"We... have confirmed in... every way possible..."

Cold, red eyes staring into his.

"... that your father... is..."

"Dead?" Though he lacked eyebrows, the ridges where they would have occupied rose. The black bags around his eyes, product of unnumbered sleepless nights, did not make him look vulnerable or exhasted.

"I'm... afraid so."

There wasn't as much reaction as was expected. "Oh."

The Kazikage squirmed in his robe, pulling his overhanging hat a fraction lower. Hiding behind it.

It was duly noted.

"What else are you afraid of?"

A hesitation seized the older man, so powerful that his mouth was stuck open, like a dying man failing to suck in his last gasping breath, "Defeat."

He was studied.

"Currently, we have surrendered to the Konoha Village for... I suppose I can call it 'accidentally' attacking them. We were manipulated by Orochimaru but... it _has_ currently left the Leaf in a vulnerable position. Soon, we will attack on our own command. Will you join us, and help us win?"

But thoughts had gone elsewhere. To the Leaf shinobi. To the warriors there. To the blood he'd extracted there. To the giant toad he'd fought there.

To the boy who defeated him there.

He shrugged, "I don't care. I don't want to fight the Leaf anymore. Whatever."

He departs, a great shadow of golden sand overlapping his head to protect him from the scalding sun. He hissed up at it, and it did not respond.

In his absence, the Kazikage muses. He is old; not much younger than the recently deceased Third Hokage. His memory is long, his mind is sharp, and his ambition is restless. The uncle to the Sand's own recently killed Kazikage, he stares out at the heat stricken village and taps fingertips together. More than any other shinobi, the Sand and Leaf had the most dealings together. They had the most trade, the most shared resources and the most competition and, though it had been difficult to keep up with the Leaf's inherent power (they were one of the only villages that continuously embraced and encouraged the growth of Enhanced Bloodlines), Those Hidden in the Leaves were also the village most notorious for bad luck.

They were a closely knitted village of single parent families; orphans buried their siblings, a father is known to outlive three or four of his children. 

Look back for just a moment, over the long distance traveled to reach this secluded enclosure, back through the trees and look through a window with a view of the mountain bearing the four faces of the great Hokages. Sit inside the academy teacher Iruka's office and note a sparse series of photographs, their edges burned, suffering water damage, bent and folded. This is a man who not only lost his parents but also his childhood home, which had long ago collapsed under the great typhoon of the Kyubi's tails.

This man is not so significant. For two houses down is another man who lost a mother and two brothers to the same creature, only he also has lost one arm.

Across the ally is a father who had two lungs punctured to save a daughter from a caving roof, caused by the same tragedy. Few were left untouched by the destruction of the creature and the first few years after its disappearance were devoted to dragging the almost destroyed civilization out of poverty and despair, out of times the few Jounin left were all that stood between the hovering, vulture-like shadows of smaller, ambitious shinobi settlements looking to pick off competition. With their old generation nearly lost, pressure was placed upon the surviving children to excel, to train, to fight and become powerful.

Sweltering heat. A dry, arid breeze, chapped lips like peeling pain.

The Kazikage knows the situation of the Leaf shinobi. He had been a spectator in the third round of the Chuunin exams, and he had _seen_ the power of their barely graduated Genin. These children were barely rookie class, and most did not even have a full year yet to get accustomed to being called 'ninja'. They were twelve, thirteen years old.

And they had reached the final rounds.

That... was not comforting to the Sand. A village nearly crushed into oblivion a decade ago was now producing a race of super children.

Thank the gods for the absolute genius that created Gaara.

He was the previous Hokage's jewel, and his bane, his greatest weapon and his hated creation; not his son, not even his blood. Sealing . The absolute power and absolute efficiency of the boy was soul shattering. ... If only he were actually controllable.

While retreating to an indoor area, the man was considering the creation of the monster boy -- it was also been to compete. The rumors that the Fourth Hokage had managed to seal a demon into an infant couldn't be left unchallenged after all... And if the Leaf could do it, so could the Sand. Had to keep up. First and formost, always, _always_ keep up.

Well. Once they had smashed their rivals, they could take the next few years dissecting the children to figure out just how they had gotten so powerful... 

* * *

To boil it down, what he disliked most about having a social life was letting people get away with things. A stranger he could ignore. A contemporary, he could deck full in the mouth. A superior he could sass.

But a person he'd spent days in the presence of? They... got away with things. The time spent with someone, for him at least, merited some sick obligation to tolerate their antics, even when you didn't want to. Even when you wanted to crawl into the knot of a tree and meet every curious face with a kunai to the eyeball. Just to piss him off, Kakashi insisted on putting a hand on his shoulder as he walked. What, to be... supportive? Like hell. It was the touching that nettled him. Ill-accustomed as he was to the unfamiliar sensation of physical contact, and already somewhat humiliated about once again finding himself hospitalized...

It was times like these that he could really stand to be hidden away in his stuffy little apartment.

The lighting to the receptionist's desk was dim and useless. He carried his jacket slung over an arm, wrapped inside was his headband. Over a shoulder he kept his belt and weapons pouch; it wasn't particularly heavy, but at the moment it was a little cumbersome -- it was full of metal weaponry. For just a moment, he wondered what he would have done were his sensei to offer helping him carry his things. Die of shock, first. But he probably wouldn't let him do it anyway. So he dismissed it.

He was in a ripe bad mood. He would deal with it.

"Naruto!" Startled, he refocused on the world, taking a moment to comprehend that a powder pink shape was moving towards him. And talking, "What happened? I heard you were attacked-"

"Nothing I couldn't handle." He spread his face wide with a semi-artificial grin. If he wasn't smiling, no one else would either. Except Kakashi, but he didn't count. Crazy bastard.

So someone had come to visit him. Odd how life turns out; two years ago, a pre-pubescent version of himself would very skeptically ask what she wanted. Last year, in the first budding throw of hormones, he would likely have back flipped into Kakashi's arms and started singing. What... _was_ he feeling now? Touched. Glad to see a face of someone he had confirmed more than once at least worried about him sometimes.

But in all honesty... what was Sakura to him these days? Outside of Iruka-sensei, he could call her the person he trusted most. Without question he would (and had before) willingly enter a fight to the death to protect her. She talked to him; confided maybe even. She listened to him if he was trying to be serious (which was rare, thank god. There were too many miserable people in this world and he was determined to not be one of them.) She got on his case. These past weeks when they were required to accomplish missions on their own, she would nag and remind him to write his report summary. Did he still want to kiss her? Well, yeah, but... how to word it? It was in the same way he wanted to hug Iruka sensei. And throw Sasuke through a wall.

He'd never had a sibling, never had any sort of relation by blood, or close ties to refer to from his childhood. She was Sakura. And were he more comfortable with the word, and more concrete in understanding its definition, he would say she was like a sister. A part of the small, patch-work quilt family he was putting together for himself.

"What are you doing with your things?" She was moving closer and, despite his extra level of tolerance allotted to her, he was feeling penned in with her in front of him and Kakashi still unmoving behind him. Being around a lot of people was scary sometimes. "You're still covered in bandages -- you can't have been here more than a few _hours_. Get back into bed right you, you moron!"

"Sakura, if Naruto wants to go home, he can go home," their sensei assured her.

The girl didn't seem mollified and called to the doctor behind the desk, fat and riffling through his papers like a pig rooting in a trough, "Hey! Tell him he has to return to his room until he's recovered!"

It took only a second, a gleam of comprehension. Just a matter of looking at the doctor, and the doctor looking back. A twitch of an eyebrow. A silent understanding. A recognition. A comprehension. An inert curiosity: had this man lost someone to the Kyubi? Was he a doctor, treating victims of the monstrous fox's attack? Ponder, ponder...

"If he wants to leave, he can leave." Was all the doctor said, and returned to his grunting, snorting, ruffling of paper.

Kakashi pushed him along from behind, "See? Nothing to worry about."

"Thanks for trying to visit me!" He called over his shoulder as he was ushered out, "Hey, stop by later and tell me about the hotel district-!" The door was shut behind them.

Now out in the open, to the friendly smells of a close-living community, they walked in silence. And observed. It was night, and the stars and moon cast more than enough light to see by, and the larger streets had lamp posts to guide the way.

Most of the town had been repaired from the battle with Orochimaru and his allies. The bodies had all been buried within the first week, once they had been identified and claimed by grieving families. It was times like these he felt both regret and relief that he would never have to identify the body of a brother, an aunt, a grandfather. Loss was part of what being a shinobi was all about, and this was not the first, the last nor the greatest loss of life the Hidden Leaf had suffered. (Um... though perhaps the battle with the Kyubi had the largest body count to date.)

The majority of property damage had been patched up with strips of sheet metal and the broken windows at least had boards over them (supplies were slower in coming these days; already the neighboring towns were skeptical in getting involved with shinobi on the potential edge of war.) There were still deep pocks in the streets, where maybe exploding notes had detonated, or perhaps a skilled Jounin had done some impressive feat with a good portion of Chakra.

The towering walls of the buildings ran in asymmetrical directions; streets made little impact to a people accustomed to leaping from one root top to another. Not wanting to expand the boundaries of the great wall surrounding the village, the natives were quite content building upward, in whatever direction they could, and not often in a tidy way. Alleys ran for miles sometimes, only to stop at a splintery wooden wall; some slender walkways narrowed out until only the residents of slighter stature could glide through sideways (an amenity he was still able to enjoy.) There were many stripes of shadow on the ground as different levels of elevated paths, sometimes just planks of wood, allowed villagers to travel across the street without having to set foot on the dirt.

Unlike the neighboring commercial districts, it was more silent here. Ninja moved with stealth by instinct, and habitually watched their surroundings -- more so than ever now, in these darker days. Children were kept indoors at night. Some even during the day. With the academy temporarily closed to free up instructors for missions, parents were now pressed to home school. To keep even the youngest prepared. Just in case. Always just in case.

In the distance he saw the top-heavy building where he lived; on a blustery day, it looked like it was on the eternal edge of blowing over; his back patio was precariously suspended by randomly placed pipes and planks of wood. He would know; he'd built it himself a few years back, after begging permission from the landlord.

Oh, crap, the landlord. His rent was due this week. When he was younger (far back as he could recall, actually) he paid for living through labor; between studying for the academy, practicing his jutsu and running laps around the village, he would sweep and scrub and feed animals while the other tenants were away. He tended the small flower boxes jutting out of windows, as though the building itself had acne. He was even pretty decent at mending, and had made a few extra bucks by darning socks for the busy women when in a pinch.

That was the plus side about being a full-fledged Genin -- it was a real job, with real wages. He was even finding himself with enough _extra _money to buy frivolous things like pictures to hang on his walls and a carpet to decorate the wooden floor. (Though having money was also teaching him the value of not flashing it around; more than once Jiraiya had weaseled his cash away from him. Bastard.)

Finally, he was home and, holding his weapon pouch in his teeth, he searched his pockets for the key.

"Well...," his escort said, eyes wandering as though anxious to leave. "Looks like you got here safely."

He let his door swing open, showing a long narrow flight of stairs leading up to his studio-style flat. When he felt the other turn to leave, he found himself saying, "Ah... Kakashi-sensei?"

The man paused. "Hm?"

He was speaking to the stair case, not sure what expression was on his face, "If for some reason... Tsunade-Hokage did agree with those guys about... not letting the Kyubi fall into the hands of the enemy...," he was speaking quieter now; the taboo on the topic still pressing in on him despite his growing accustomed to it, "Would you, ah, y'know... If she ordered, um, that... would you, if you were ordered to, y'know, kill-"

A hand ruffled his hair, and he didn't have to look to know the Jounin was smiling, "Let's just hope it never comes down to that."

Oh.

Sometime later he found himself in his apartment, going through and making sure all the windows were locked, setting up a few noise-traps to the latches to alert him if anyone was trying to break in over the night.

He didn't even bother feeling paranoid; a kid living alone had to take care of himself.

Changing into pajamas, he pauses to finger the pendant around his neck, wondering. Always wondering.

He stuffed a few extra pillows beneath the blanket of his bed to look like a human shape was beneath. 

And then he went to his closet, where he already had a extra clothes and towels piled up inside to make it softer and, after nestling into them to get as comfortable as possible, he made sure his leg pouch was secured to his thigh and full of shiruken and kunai. And then he closed his closet door, and fell promptly asleep.

* * *

There was something utterly astounding and eternally unpredictable about the boy's thought process.

It was... the only explanation for it. The only plausible reason a Jounin and two Chuunin could fail to capture a rather pathetic, ill-trained, terrified and rather young Genin brat. He was mindlessly unobservant, which should have made him easy to subdue; somehow, it didn't work like that. His skeptical temperament had leveled out his obliviousness -- though he failed to notice a group of three men watching him from the table to his right, close enough they could have touched his elbow, grabbed his cheek, he had the mental conditioning to instantly spring off and away at the cue of a single blatantly intentional step in his direction.

And he wasn't just fast. He was little. Less wind resistance. Could fit through tighter alleys. To have him suddenly take off across the rooftops of the familiar environment of his home, it was akin to standing in a field and watching a single horsefly hover like a spot of reflected light in front of you, so close you had to go cross eyed to even fully register it, but nearly impossible to successfully swat. And the winding chases he could lead! His demon lent him endurance, and his fear lent him desperation, and his years of trickery lent him experience in running from repercussion.

Not too proud to drop to all fours in closed-in areas. Not beneath long series of transformations; first replicating shadows, and then each one taking on the form of a different person. That was something no one had warned them about; Bunshin no Jutsu they could handle. It was elementary; an intangible replication can't do much. But Kage Bunshin... each clone, each with a portion of mind to itself -- they did not have to be within sight of their creator. They were true, living creatures. And they could perform jutsu of their own, with enough Chakra.

More than once a clone was mistakenly pursued; transforming first into a woman, and then a man, and then a rabbit, and then a stone. And, out of breath, irate, frustrated, when finally it looked like the boy was tiring... poof.

It had taken... hours... of haggard pursuit. Heading for the fish shop, going in, -- damn, it was only another shadow replication! The _pat-pat-pat_ as sandaled feet scurried over the rusted metal roofing; out the window, after him, from roof to roof, ricochet off a lamp post, bursting through a stranger's window, darting through their house, a foreign living room, a bathroom -- where? The window too small to fit a full-grown man's shoulders through. The sounds of pursuit as others take up the chase. They catch up, they send him skidding; he should have been down for hours, but instead he's using the momentum to run up the side of a fence, vaulting over a railing into a strip of second-story porches, bursting a flair bomb, temporarily blinding them.

Wanting to kill him, to wring his skinny little neck, to jerk his arm out of its socket, to slam a fist through his stomach to squeeze his warm little guts -- where?! Three men can't keep track of a -- one shouts, "There!" The flash of an orange coat, _dammit_, it wasn't him; withdrawing to the shadows, scanning the people as they pass, looking for a short blonde head...

Brain-jarring impact from behind; _this_ was the boy's only feature of consolation: if he was running, he would only do it for so long. He was mad enough to think he could fight back. 

It ensued, lacking the breath to call the others; the gleaming ringed hilt of a kunai, buried in chest; the organic crunch of tree bark where the boy's little body hits. Not supposed to kill him but having long since abandoned the kid gloves -- just get a good hold on one arm, just _one_ firm grip and then it would be no struggle, swing him into a neighboring post -- like beating out a dusty rug! 

If that could just be accomplished, if _that could just be accomplished_--

... that had been a few days ago, now. Somehow, the quarry had evaded escape long enough to reach the densely populated heart of the city, where they dared not go.

So now, the three of them remained huddled in the treetops a few miles outside the village limits. A few strong breezes offered tantalizing hints of what the natives were cooking in their nice gas stoves, the smell of well prepared meals, of seasoned meats, of anything, _anything_ better than ninja rations. Odorless, tasteless, textureless; so bland and useless not even insects found it interesting, marauding predators that caroused their fireless camp at night disregarded it. Wild animals, squirrels, raccoons, they would steal shiny shiruken, they would steal loose buttons but nothing, _nothing_ outside the logic of men in hiding would consider putting a ration in their mouth.

They couldn't even kill a fish. They had to avoid killing _insects_. Just in case. There could be no sign they were here; they slept on moist earth without fire, they could not bathe upstream, but the town used the passing river as a means to dispose of waste, so they couldn't bathe downstream either. As a result, they had the warm, heavy organic smell of unwashed hair and the sour, rather acrid odor of _sweaty body_.

The village, still recovering from a previous assault a few months earlier, was on edge. They couldn't risk being discovered, but they also couldn't risk returning without results. Damn the Hidden Sand and Sound! Damn Orochimaru for his inopportune time to begin tormenting the Leaf Shinobi -- like beating a hive of bees with a stick! He could decimate them if he wanted, any other time but now! Their security was strung so tight, their sentry so active, their watchmen so alert it would be difficult to kidnap _any_ child from within the village gates.

"I... hate..."

The other two looked to him.

"... everything."

They looked back down at their laps again.

The wet sound of chewing and swallowing, squishy bricks of unspecific brown and gray junk. Full of nutrients and vitamins to keep their system up.

"Well." A different one speaking, "I'm going to be grateful."

More silence.

"Consider our options.We got the less-dangerous demon."

That, they could nod to. The three of them had been haunting the skirts of the village for quite a while, miserable and craving creature comforts but alive and, aside from Tomo, who was still healing from the brat's well-placed kunai, they were healthy. No, the Leaf's demon was by far the best charge they could have gotten. It was common knowledge that the Missing-nin after _the Sand's_ demon weren't nearly so fortunate.

And the amount of money being _offered_ for these rising demon brats... whatever the Akatsuki were planning to do with them had to be important.

"... I still hate... everything." 

Pause. "

"... yeah." They nodded with him.

* * *

To be continued.


	2. Part Two

**Transition Anchor  
Part Two**

Scratching his back, yanking sleeping cap from head, he opened the door with a hostile expression. People did not knock on his door to visit him. They only came when they wanted something. Unless they were here to try arresting him again (though they'd only tried that twice, and in all honesty he'd duly deserved it.) Sleep-slurred and surly, he had not a formal bone in his little body, "Whaddya want?"

The sour, uncompromising expression he met could have been his twin, "Ungrateful as always. I brought your next mission." It wasn't a matter of crankiness. It wasn't a matter of misfortune or unforeseen circumstances. Shikamaru was indiscriminately unwarm to every man, woman and child. 

"... Oh." Here was another hard part about having to interact with others, a part no one had been in the place to teach him: the art of manners. "Um. Thanks."

"Tch." The taller boy looked off down the stairs and scowled; it would only be a matter of years before his grimacing started to make permanent puckers between his eyebrows. "I'm calling the other Genin together this afternoon to discuss our village's problems. I guess you should come, too."

Eyebrows raising.

"I mean, you seem pretty involved with Jiraiya and that woman Hokage we've got. Maybe you can tell us something-"

"I'll come!" He said, and winced internally when he realized how loud he'd said it, but could not contain the rising tide of eagerness. "I'll definitely come!" He went to slam the door before the other boy could renege. His heart was speeding. His former classmates would never have wanted him around prior to the Chuunin exams; even if he hadn't passed, it seemed to have opened their eyes-

"Naruto."

He peered back out the door; looking somewhat hostile now. So help him if that kid said "Psych!" or "Just kidding!" he was going to knock his teeth in...

A bundle of envelopes and scrolls was held out, "Your mission? I picked up the rest of your mail, too. Show up at the academy training grounds around three; we can figure out where to go from there."

Quickly, the papers were snagged, and the door slammed.

"Ungrateful bastard-"

The door opened just a crack, "An' thanks! Thank you, you won't regret it!"

Slammed a second time.

Hands in pockets, slack posture unbecoming of a ninja, the boy slumped back down the stairs, murmuring, "Weirdo."

On the other side of the door:

Flannel shirt, flying through the air. Pants gliding in another. In his teeth were clamped mail and mission, and going cross eyed he tried figuring out everything he'd received. He recognized one stamp from the electric company -- crap, had he forgotten to pay the bill again? When cash was short, electricity was the first to be neglected; he had candles situated throughout the house in preparation if they shut out his lights again. He'd already taken care of the plumbing, and after this mission he should be able to make the rent (so long as he completed it today. There wouldn't be time to send it, he'd have to personally deliver the money to the landlord with an apology.)

Hopping on one foot, he pulled on his too-loose pants (they'd have to fit him for a few more years, he hated buying new clothes, and his years of darning socks loaned him a knack for mending his own limited wardrobe.) Pacing to his kitchenette, he leafed through the other envelopes... junk, advertisements, more junk -- _damn_, the hospital was quick to send its bill!

This really fouled his mood. He hated hospital bills the most, because if you didn't pay them on time the powers that be could drag your ass to court and, since he couldn't afford a lawyer, he would _really_ be screwed. He restrained himself from ripping the paper to shreds. Good thing he'd left last night! The charge for over-night bills would likely be astronomical. (Fortunately for him, all hospitalizations of participating delegates during the Chuunin exams were paid for by the academy; score one for having beat the system!)

Oh well. He'd get by somehow. Maybe he could hawk some furniture; do a little spring cleaning. Surely there was something he owned that other people wanted, and nothing outside of the pendant old lady Tsunade had given him was beneath him trying to sell.

Last of all, he tied on his precious hitae headband; the very one Iruka-sensei had given him (wow, it felt like forever ago.) It was a little scuffed, but he was reading up on how to polish them correctly. He stared in the mirror and tried out a few faces, intimidating, aggressive, sympathetic, stoic, and none of them felt right on his face. He struggled for a moment before deciding he was just fine as he was. He was Naruto. And he was going to eat this world alive.

... just after he had some breakfast.

Not particularly in the mood for ramen (it just wasn't a "morning" food) he toasted a bagel and as he spread on rather crumbly cream cheese he slipped open his mission scroll and scanned it. Again he was aware of a rather stark comparison with how he had once been; here, he found a C Rank mission. And he didn't even bat an eye.

With the village currently being short on men, all of last year's Genin were being utilized for more advanced tasks these days. They _had_ proven their competence in the Chuunin exam, and their ability to deal with most situations. Subsequently, the upper class trainees still _in_ the academy were temporarily being promoted to Genin, so long as they could pass all the required field tests, to take care of the D Rank missions for now. Lucky bastards. At least they still weren't allowed to wear real Leaf headbands yet. They were only given patches.

A C Rank was also good, in that they paid more money. He really needed money right now.

He scanned the details - grinning. Leg man? Piece of cake. The village in question was only a few miles away, and these tasks involved little more than delivering one message after another across town (speed was no problem for a spry shinobi, who could leap rooftops in a single bound), sometimes just sitting around and waiting for one man to write his reply so it could be delivered. It _also_ often involved _tips_, to insure good relations. That was always a bonus.

And regular villages were a treat to visit anyway, for a kid who'd never been taken on vacation before. As ninja went, he was often clumsy and rather loud. But compared to _normal_ men, compared to carpenters and smithies and fisherman, he was downright _lethal_, as he'd demonstrated a few times to the common riffraff thugs occasionally hired to intercept his messages. A few well-slung shiruken, a few less fingers on his wannabe attackers, and he _undoubtedly_ would receive a better tip-

Oh, he hoped, he hoped, he hoped...

* * *

Stillness of morning; creamy yellow light creeping through an open window. A woman, bowed over a table piled with scrolls and dry parchment paper, her hair gathered in two messy bunches on either side of her head, exposing the back of her deceivingly supple and slender neck. He shoulders rise and fall in the slumber she has succumbed to. 

A large, lone figure, perched in the window, casting little shadow for all its mass. Slowly, inching inside. One foot, then another.

With an opportunity such as this, you disregard age and maturity, status and respect. You react in the only way one can see fit.

"Good _morning_, Tsunade-woah, hey!" Quickly, fingers snap up and the sharp _kling_ of metal echoes out the window. Pause, composure regained, a deep breath taken. Inches from his face, he holds at bay the twin edges of a pair of scissors. "A little edgy are we?"

The woman's taut, liquid-steele muscles melt and she shrinks into her chair, "I _will_ kill you someday, Jiraiya."

He shifts out of the way so she can push her chair away from the table and stand up, jerking her body one way then another to crack her back. He grimaces, "I'd like to see you try." The woman, however, is not prone to reply when she doesn't see fit, and instead looses her hair to comb her fingers through it. He is watching her weary eyes, the droop of her mouth. "Actually, I think you could use the exercise."

Half of her face covered by a frozen stream of blonde, she shoots him a look that could run blood cold in veins, "Mind your own business, lech."

"_There's_ my flat-chested tom boy," he grins. No one else would have gotten away with it. No one else could have had a validated _reason_ to say it, as well-endowed of a woman was. But he is uneasy, and looking over the cluttered desk. "Do you sleep up here every night?"

In her mouth, she grips a ribbon; her arms behind her head tying her hair back again -- it looked little better than it had before her grooming, "If I sleep at all. There are too many wolves at our gate. I have to be awake at all times to keep them at bay."

How strange it would be to see the two of them; him, a good two feet taller than her; both with their hair nearly to their knees; with stern, amused, angry and detached expressions; they didn't want to be here, really. They also couldn't be anywhere else. Of the San-nin, the Three, these are the Two that were loyal.

He raises a large thumb to his mouth, licks it, and rubs it against her nose.

"What the hell are you doing?!" She draws away, wiping and grimacing, spiting.

She could easily break a few of his bones, and he smiles, "You have something on your face."

The black, spotty freckling of ink -- the unfortunate part of writing ceremonious scrolls with powerful seals to deter tampering was that most had to be written through the feather of one exotic bird or another. Ung. Giver her a modern calligraphy pen any day.

"Crazy bastard." In a rather unladylike fashion, she flops into her chair, and rubs at her face. In his presence and his presence alone, she isn't concerned about her beauty, her flesh; and it is he alone that fails to see her for her slender waist, her doll-like face, her round, half-covered breasts, as alluring as such features normally strike him. They'd simply... seen it all before. They had been there and done that so many times that even childhood rivalry couldn't keep the trend going. Alone in each other's presence, they became androgynous, bodiless, boneless beings, with no timber of voice save intention, with no tangible acknowledgement save living matter against living matter.

Though having spit on one's nose is still icky.

"A Hokage can't confide in her subordinates," he says, hunkering down on the ground, fingers lacing, "So tell a wandering author, a man of no circumstances, what is going on in the Konoha Village." 

Watching the world through the bars of her fingers, "Alright, then. You'll regret offering." Her eyes close. Something in the skin... was sallow. Her eyes were the same, and her face and her hair but it sagged with age. "I don't know what we're going to do. I just got word back from the Water country. They do not want to become allies with us; they say they want to remain neutral. That they do not want to get involved in foreign shinobi disputes."

He does not reply. Her knuckles are more visible, the tendons holding her hand bones together are more apparent; little purple and blue rivers under his tissue paper skin, "Jiraiya, they were our last hope."

Cryptic words, coming from the leader and forerunner of her people.

"Meh." He says. "They can rot. Our best hope isn't in outsider's power. You've been away too long. Our best chance right now," he stands, putting a hand on her shoulder, "is in the children."

Like a balloon, she fills out again from the distant sound of approaching steps, "Only a coward send their children to fight their battles for them."

"Hey, no one said they had to do it alone. It would just be a waste for them to have all that potential and not even get to use it." He was leaning out the window, looking down, spotting in the distance with his well-honed eye a vantage point to the all-woman ninja academy in the Southern corner of the city. "This is their home, too, and I'm sure they'd like the chance to defend it as much as any of us."

And he's gone. And the woman is left with much to think about.

* * *

In record time, the mission had been completed -- and had been paid less than he'd hoped. Only one message had needed secure delivery, and even then the tip hadn't been much, despite the promptness.

Assembled with the other Genin, absolutely quivering with glee that they were acting as though he had never belonged anywhere _except_ in their midst. He'd tried catching Sakura's eye -- standing behind a bickering Tenten and Kiba --, but she was busy trying to talk to Sasuke, who was ignoring her. It wasn't just their own rivalry that was going sour; that stuck-up kid was being colder to everyone lately. And so long as Sakura was around Sasuke, he couldn't be around her, since he and the other boy were currently avoiding one another. Actually, knowing people wasn't all that different from not knowing people -- there were still the ones you liked, the ones you wanted to be around, and then there were people that you really didn't. Like Sasuke. Crummy stuck up... Damn geniuses, cold as fish.

He was going to spend his tip on lunch. By doing this, he had _advance_ knowledge that he wouldn't be able to squeak by with rent this month. Not entirely. He would definitely have to do some bowing and scraping around the landlord this evening; hands and face _to the floor_, but it would probably work out. It... usually did. Maybe he could do some last minute odd jobs.

The paradox of recreational commitments. Being around people, like you're one of them, part of a _group_, was nice. But it sure sucked, too, because you were expected to be able to keep up with them, not just mentally, verbally and physically but also financially. Crap.

A short walk later they were indoors, surrounded by the smell of hot noodles, hot fire, hot water and... well, some pretty hot waitresses, even if they did give him some pretty foul looks. Three tables had to be pushed together to seat them all, and they were kept near the back of the room though none noticed. Though shinobi, though trained from a young age, though mature and having faced extreme pains and crucial, life-threatening situations, though living on the brink of war -- children can still be children. And unsupervised children can be chaotic when hungry.

For a short time, there was no rank, no consideration of person. They ordered.

"-some duck, with leeks and water chestnuts-"

"-fresh strawberries?! Oh, I'll have some with _cream_-"

"-four, _no_, five! I want _five_-"

"-only could I have the beef taken out? I don't really want-"

(A bus boy -- man, actually, well into his prime -- stops by to disperse glasses of water.)

"-elbows out of the way-"

"-could I get mine without ice?-"

"-oh, hey, you forgot Naruto's drink-"

"-nah, forget it, I'm not thirsty anyway-"

"-don't know, could I get just a _half_ serving?-"

It commenced thus for the first twenty minutes of the stay, until no more talking could be done with matter pressed contentedly between their teeth. Many had skipped breakfast that morning; many had gone a few days without a large meal, with the stress of parents pushing them, encouraging them to get up, train, train, study, practice jutsu, run laps, be prepared, always prepared...

Under the table, he was fingering his coin pouch with concern. Leaning across the table, "Hey, anyone want to give me their next mission? Got any right now? I'm free, so I could do them this evening, no sweat!" Looking up and down the table eagerly, hopefully.

Sakura, too used to him, shut him down, "Quit showing off, Naruto. Geez, you're always so hyper."

"You got me all wrong," he said, trying for a pacifying smile, "I just need the money."

The snotty girl -- Ino -- made a snorting sound and the conversation started up as though he hadn't said anything. Damn bastards.

"Um, I would have given you mine," said a voice to his left (he hadn't noticed who he'd taken a seat next to), "But..."

Crutches leaning against a chair arm were rattled irritably.

Fuzzy-brow -- Lee, if he was being fair -- was remarkably easy to get along with. There was the peculiar rapport between them, both having struggled more than most to pass at the academy. It was relieving to know he wasn't the only one to have had trouble with some of the jutsu, and still finding his own unique style of ass-kickage. That was another cool realization as he got to know people: most everyone was a loser in _one _area or another, and each person had a different degree of social acceptance. Lee had been a definite loser. But he was mighty as all hell, which put a lot of closet-losers into the light.

Gotta like a guy like that.

"It's just a matter of time before your back in action," he said, tentatively easing into what could possibly be a conversation. He didn't talk one-on-one to many people. He flashed twin rows of rather sharp teeth, "Old lady Tsunade is kind of flaky sometimes, but she's real good at fixing people. She'll pull you through in no time."

It was interesting to watch the other boy smile. It was such a peculiar face, with those wide, rather startled-looking dewy eyes and overpowering eyebrows. "Right!" The taller boys replied, his one good hand in a tight grip of determination, "If I die, then I guess it won't matter. But if I live, then I'm going to continue getting better!"

Yeah. Really gotta like this guy.

The other boy's plate of creamed eggs was set in front of him, and as the waitress passed he had to remind her of the conveniently forgotten ramen he'd ordered. Turning back, "When are you going in for the surgery?"

Grimly, "As soon as possible."

"You're not thinking this through rationally." Dull, unenthused voice from across the table, "Can't you take common sense into account for once?" A shifting of weight, "This is serious. You really could _die_."

Hyuga... Yeah. He understood the rivalry thing going on between these two intimately: genius with inherent Bloodlimit versus low-life hack with grit and not a whole lot else. Actually, he would have enjoyed seeing the two bicker for a while, but Lee looked as though he was wilting. Perhaps Neji was exposing the extent of concern he could in this area, but it wasn't productive. Lee wasn't as confident as he was trying to be; you could tell in his every word and action. You could see it in his eyes, even as you think it yourself. This could be the last time he's with them all. This could be the last time he grins. When he's put under for the operation, it could be the last time he ever falls asleep...

"Hey, just give him a break." A palm falling flat on the table, "Right now, he doesn't need this. He needs encouragement, especially from you -- you're his_ teammate_."

"You're absurd." Cold eyes, nearly white and without pupils were still trained across the table on the taller of the three, "He shouldn't _have_ encouragement in this."

"Neji...," Tenten said uncertainly from up the table.

"Look, I'm saying it because I _am_ his teammate. He's overly optimistic and rather annoying, but I don't want to see him _die_, especially over something so stupid. You can't prove your personal convictions when you're dead. "

The unfortunate part was that this wasn't the only voice coming from that side of the debate. More than a few of the well-meaning Leaf shinobi had also been trying in their own way to talk Lee out of the risky procedure. Even Tenten was sinking back in her bench uncertainly, normally cheerful eyes downcast and shiny.

They didn't understand. They simply did not understand.

"Whatever, just butt out." He was irritable and broke and likely the food in his fridge was going bad because the electric company shut off his electricity at 12 o' clock noon and it was almost three now. "No one asked you anyway." The corners of his mouth drew tight with disapproval until he dropped eye contact dismissively.

Discovering that Lee was looking at the side of his face, "... what?"

A finger pointing, "It's a little surprising -- you normally have such an open and simple look to your eyes, but when you glare it's... kind of vicious. Like, really."

"Ah... um." No clue how to take that. From his peripherals he saw that Hyuga was now grumpily concentrating on eating, inspecting each morsel that sought entrance to his palate with the utmost care. 

Guilt. A little. In a warped way, one he would not want to elaborate on, he respected Neji and appreciated his existence in ways that went far beyond the boy's incredible fighting talents. To cut back all the trappings that separated them as individuals, they were both boys sealed to fates they hadn't asked for, with markings on their bodies that could never be scrubbed away except in death itself. Misery did enjoy its company.

That, and the guy _was_ mighty-powerful. Gotta respect the kid that could absolutely tromp you if you're not paying the precisest of attention.

"Hey," Lee sang out, giving a manly thump to the shoulder with his good hand, "Since our senseis are rivals maybe you and I could have a _match_ when I'm better. I'd like to see how I fair against the guy who beat Neji."

"Sure, sounds like fun." (His own meal finally arrived, so his words were slightly muffled around a full mouth.) "Though I don't see why it's because of our senseis."

"Well, wouldn't it be interesting? Gai-sensei and Kakashi-san's techniques are so different but so compatible that they always make for really fascinating and active matches."

Pause. His face changed in some unspecific way; with his smile gone it was... not reserved or depressed. It was milder. He simply looked glum. "Then I'm not your man. I know Gai's given you lots of extra training but in my group, Kakashi's protégé is Sasuke, not me. He hasn't really tutored me on anything outside of the basics." Glum was slipping to expose disappointment, but like a flash of lighting it was gone and he was grinning to show his canines, "Oh well, he's just too lazy of a bastard to teach more than one kid. He's just passing up his chance to get credit for my upbringing when I'm Hokage." He fingered the cord around his neck, the pendant hidden beneath his jacket.

Bushy eyebrows rose high no forehead, "Is it okay to talk about your sensei like that?"

Simple shrug, "Meh. I don't care. He's a super awesome fighter and knows all kinds of neat stuff but if he wants to play favorites with Mr. I-Am-Incapable-Of-Being-Pleasant I guess it's fine. I mean, there _is_ no one better to teach him how to use his Sharingen. Y'know." A long rope of noodles was slurped to fill the silence.

"Hmm! But you do have a special talent, too, right?" He struggled, still not used to having to use his left hand to handle his spoon, "You did something... different... to beat Neji, didn't you? I've heard a lot of people talking about it."

"I've been curious about that as well," Neji gained the gumption to engage them again, having been shamelessly eavesdropping, "My Byakugan had never seen anything like the Chakra you used in the exam. You also healed yourself. Is there a Bloodlimit in your family, too? Or some secret Chakra rejuvenation technique?"

A chuckle, "In my family? Your guess is as good as mine, though it's not likely."

Kiba, on the other side of Lee, caught the thread of the conversation, "I was wondering that too, so after the exam I tried looking up the name Uzumaki, but couldn't find anything. My folks are kinda' history buffs but they didn't have anything to say when I asked them about it, either."

Wow. It was a very peculiar, somewhat flattering sensation to find yourself the object of curiosity. And a little unnerving. And made him a little suspicious, too.

He flicked a wrist playfully, "Well, yeah! The name Uzumaki is kind of fictitious. I don't belong to any family that I've ever known of so... well, now that I think about it I guess someone must have made my name up when I was little." He nudged his headband with the heel of his palm and winked, "That's why I gotta be the best ninja ever -- I'm the first and only representative to the entire Uzumaki clan!"

He realized a lot of the table had gotten quiet. For most of their lives, Naruto had been infamous as not only one of the least successful students from the academy but the biggest prankster in the village. Aside from that, there had been in other recognition or thought to his antics. But since defeating one of the village's most powerful rookies, curiosity had developed -- and then surprise, as they realized in his own bizarre and unexpected way, this boy was... mysterious. 

"Well...," Lee finally said, "That's a real positive way to look at it!"

And, thankfully, that was as far as that string went as Ino began to recall an amusing anecdote from her family's floral shop, to which someone mentioned businesses in general, commercially and locally; they broke off into individual discussions of economy and the ratio of supply and demand.

Ramen was devoured and for once he was quite contented to sit there in silence and just experience being around people that shared mutual tolerance with him. It was kind of... nice. Maybe it was beyond hope to gain the acceptance of the older generation but now that he'd broken the ice he wasn't finding it difficult at all to fit into the already mismatched bunch of of other youths.

Eventually, one person's attention was drawn to the head of the table where Shikamaru had pushed his emptied plate back and stood up, waiting for the them to realize the party had assembled for a larger reason than social recreation. A few others were noticing him, too. Gradually, after a few elbowings were handed out, the preadolescent clamor died down and, feeling rather mature and independent, they watched him, their Chuunin superior, expectantly waiting for him to begin.

"Man. Maybe this was a bad idea," was the first thing he said, for his own benefit, and with it out of the way he was able to start addressing them, "As Chuunins go, I'm at the bottom of the information chain; aside from the vest, I'm still essentially a Genin. So...," he put both hands on the table top and leaned over them, "I don't have a clue what's really going on." A pause, during which a few people exchanged uncertain looks, "I want to, though. And you all probably want to as well. I guess. That's why I wanted to get together." He seemed done, and leaned lazily, observing their reactions.

"Do you think we could go ask the Hokage?" Sakura asked, looking left and right (and, hesitantly, at the dark shape of Sasuke at the end of the table.)

Tenten was eager to second the motion, "Yeah! I'd like to meet her anyway."

Naruto answered this with a tight grimace, "She'd like to talk to us, I'm pretty sure, but... I don't think she has time to see for it right now." His eyes darted around, a little unsure.

"Besides there's no guarantee she'd be able to answer our questions anyway," Kiba chipped in, slipping strips of beef to the fuzzy muzzle poking out of the neck of his jacket, "She hasn't exactly been Hokage for very long."

Though Naruto ruffled it was Neji who responded, "Nn... She's one of The Three. I don't think the council would have cast her if she wasn't entirely capable of the position."

"Orochimaru was one of The Three, too." Shino, silent until now, finally deigned to contribute.

"Don't compare Tsunade-sama to that black snake!" Tenten jutted her chin aggressively.

Lee added, "For my part, I trust her. But I don't think any of us know enough yet to question her motives."

Ino sighed loudly, her breath eventually forming the word, "Whatever." She pierced the length of the table sharply, "This isn't getting us anywhere. What _do_ we know, as of right now?"

"Well, it's obvious the village is on high alert." Sakura started. "I see Jounin scouting the edges of the village, day and night."

"Um," Hinata fidgeted, looking down at her hands, "I heard Father and Kurenai-sensei talking... they sounded like we might be going to war."

Shikamaru wrinkled his nose, eyes closed as he nodded once, "That's also what my superiors have hinted at." He was seated now, elbows wrapping around the back of his chair. "Geez. This is such a drag."

Flexing his fingers with utter frustration, Lee asked, "What are we going to do about this? What _can_ we do?"

"I don't know about you guys...," Choji answered, staring down at the table, "But my parents have _already_ been increasing my training. Dad's been drilling my jutsu every chance he gets."

"Man, now that you mention it, same with us!" Kiba added, and a yip from his jacket in agreeance.

Ino and Sakura said at the same time, "Me, too!"

A few other people were nodding as well.

"The village is still undermanned, though," Sasuke murmured cryptically, his fingers interlaced in front of his face, elbows on table.

"Hn. What we _do_ have, however, is very powerful," Neji rebutted, posture erect, hands in lap.

Naruto grinned viciously, "Damn straight!" A few less zealous agreements echoed him.

Poking his meal as though he didn't trust it, Shino asked, "Who exactly are we expecting to be attacked by?"

"The Sound," Tenten said at the same time Sakura said, "The Sand."

A pause. A few glances around. Naruto looked questioningly up the table at Sasuke who narrowed his eyes and shook his head a fraction. No.

With a grunt, Shikamaru went ahead and plunged in again, "Okay, for the record I've been told that the Sand _has_ surrendered unconditionally. Though I would like to say it's comforting, they've been refusing requests for further peace talks..."

Another pause, longer and deeper and pushier. The sinking sensation that this was actually happening. That they were really having this conversation. A few were fidgeting nervously. Hinata had begun to chew at a thumb nail; Choji was chewing at a more rapid pace; Akamaru was butting up against Kiba's chin; Shino's insects were creeping about anxiously under his coat.

A sigh. Shikamaru prompted contribution again, "Naruto. It's no secret you've been spending a lot of time with that Jiraiya, as well as that Hokage he's brought in -- have they let anything slip to you?"

Blinking, a little startled when all faces turned to him, he fiddled with his headband, trying to keep a fearless face, "Um... it's like you've all been saying, actually. Yeah, the Sound is definitely against us, and Orochimaru is behind them..." Faces grimed to varying degrees, depending on each's personal knowledge about that particular man, but one understanding was in all of their immediate memories -- it was _he_ that had cost them their previous Hokage. "Actually, he was behind the Sand's attack during the exams, too. He was posing as the Kazekage." (There was a few murmurs, most on the line of "-that's what I heard, too-")

"Orochimaru...," Sakura said, quaking, voice hollow, "... is a very twisted, very evil man."

"Well, damn," Kiba tightened a hand into a fist, "I'm not going to be afraid of him!"

Tenten nodded, "And with two of The Three on our side, surely Leaf doesn't have to worry too much-"

"You're all being stupid," Sasuke bit out, a hand traveling to the back of his neck, "He could wipe out half the village in an instant if he wanted to." His eyes tore into Kiba's, "You _should_ fear him; to you, he is _walking death_."

This was the first time most people present had ever seen the quiet withdrawn Uchiha heir get passionate or expressive about anything, and there was a few audible gulps at his intensity.

Even Naruto had to degrade himself to agree, "... he's right; if the power of this entire table was put together, at our current levels we would still stand no chance against him. We would be slaughtered."

And he was thinking of something else. With it, there was a moment during which he felt the breadth and width of his heart rapidly beating against his lungs. Orochimaru was a major threat, it was true, but with them all gathered here... Well, there _were_ other enemies of Konoha Village. The news of the Akatsuki, for one, had also not become common knowledge yet. But _because_ no one had taken the measure to spread such information, he wasn't sure if he was at liberty to mention it. Along with other little facts.

"And... there's something else." He again made significant eye contact with Sasuke, who shot him a very lethal glare. A few people looked back and forth between them. Sakura was twisting her napkin to shreds on her lap. "There is another-"

"_Shut up_, Naruto." 

Dead silence.

God damn it, that was it. He'd had a bad enough day, he wasn't going to be treated like a subordinate in front of his contemporaries, "Dammit, Sasuke, this is more important than your pride! All of the Jounin already know, and most of the Chuunin -- it's not something that should be kept from-"

"I'll make this simple for you," the other boy interrupted, "If you don't shut up right now, I will attack you." To prove his claim, he pushed his chair back.

And for one split moment, he considered standing up and shouting, "Bring it!" His hand was even sliding to his thigh pouch as automatic reaction...

But then, cursed logic kicked in. A fight with Sasuke would be rough; and being indoors there would likely be a lot of extra destruction -- tables, windows, chairs. And that wasn't including the Uchiha boy's penchant for calling on fire elements. The place could be destroyed, or burned down. And there were currently many patrons to the restaurant present -- other people could get hurt.

... that, and the blame would undoubtedly fall on his own head. And he really couldn't afford to pay for property damage right now.

He sank lower in his chair and said nothing more, seething.

This exchange subsequently ended the meeting (on a very sour note) -- knowing that others were withholding something made it difficult to offer something of your own. Slowly, the last remains of the edibles were ingested and the Genin began to filter out in small groups, agreeing quietly that if any new or helpful details were gleaned, they would assemble again.

Squeakily sucking clean his fingers, he winced at the insignificant heft of his wallet once he'd paid his bill, and though he would have liked to accompany Sakura home she had already left with Ino.

So hands jammed in pockets, and with no where to really go for the rest of the day, he leaned against the outside of the restaurant and pondered existence. And the solar system. And facial hair. And Shino's insects. And if there would be an eviction notice nailed to his door when he got home. He pondered the future and the past and the trivial pursuits of mice and men.

And he pondered how the days were getting shorter; autumn was not far off, and then would come the chill of winter -- an interesting time for ninja. Snow offered new and interesting types of camouflage, while at the same time causing complex new problems.

Well. "Complex New Problems" seemed to be this years _theme_. Up until becoming a Genin, one year had been as inane and miserable as those previous it, and life had changed little (only his approach had varied throughout his childhood: one year would be spent defiantly refusing to pay attention -- they ignored him, he would return the favor -- and then the next year would be spent regretting it as, determined to prove everyone wrong by succeeding, he had to try teaching himself what he'd intentionally missed the first time around _one top of_ learning the newer lessons.)

With the semi-frequent attempted kidnappings he'd been suffering from, he jumped rather high when a small hand patted his shoulder. Luckily, he'd only just hooked a finger through the ring of a kunai before recognizing Hinata.

"Gee~ez, you scared me!" He had to shake his hands out, as they had gone instantly clammy.

He didn't catch what she said in reply and stood there, not doing much of anything.With nothing better to do with the rest of the day, and dreading a return home, he didn't see any reason to excuse himself. They both spent a few moments doing little other than taking up space. He stretched his arms high in the air, then folded them behind his head. She looked everywhere but at him, as though they were strangers. Beneath her chin, against her collar bone, she clutched something in both hands.

"Um." She said, inspecting her feet. He brow knotted and her lips formed a thin line.

He raised a curious eyebrow.

She thrust both hands forward very suddenly, holding out _something_, exploding with, "Here!"

Complacent human nature had his fingers wrapping around the offering before even mentally registering that it was an unopened mission scroll, and by the time he recognized it she had vanished with rather deft ninja skill.

"Th-thank you!" He said belatedly to the vacant air.

Woah. She had actually been listening when he said he needed money. And though he knew the Hyuga family was quite wealthy, he determined himself to pay her back sometime. He went a long way for people who did nice things for him. 

He took to the rooftops eagerly, hoping to accomplish the mission before the payment office closed -- with this, he would make rent! And likely have extra to start pooling into his hospital bill!

Score! Oh, _mega_-score...

* * *

To be continued.


	3. Part Three

**Transition Anchor  
Part Three**

Pressure. 

The pressure akin to being miles under the ocean, where the hungry water squeezes down indiscriminately on every portion of the body; felt in the head, in the arms, in the bladder and in the bones. On the eyelids every time they opened in the morning, and dragging down with greedy arms to pin you into bed each night, preventing any tossing, any turning. Any midnight scratching, any trips for water. Pressure impossible to fight, because it is under the skin, in the nerves -- every fiber of muscle is clenched, ready, but at the same time so solid and alien it upsets the human instincts. A solid layer of inner muscle, holding so tight it raises a tide of claustrophobia.

It was the very pressure that was holding the very village in its grip.

Each passing day you saw it taking affect. Training grounds were starting to require reservations as inactive ninjas rekindled waning skills. There was a rigidity to the walking patters in the street; a distrustful air; a double take at those walking in your path. Trying to discover... what? Were they really Leaf? It was... so easy to put the headbands on. And so easy to simply use techniques like Henge no jutsu and suddenly be someone else.

Tension in every breath. The swallow of every throat was too loud, every muffled click of every blinking eye.

... which was all very irritating, as he, personally, was finding himself not all that affected. His trend had consistently been to dismiss that which didn't affect him, or he had no control over. It narrowed things down. Straightened priority. 

Running up the street, looking around, not... entirely sure what his destination was, though he knew his goal. Gliding around people with the familiarity of one accustomed to avoiding extra glances, he stuck his head in a few taverns and bars along the way. The pitter of his sandaled feet hadn't changed but...

Everything else about his body felt as though it had. The past few days had involved notices in the mail, confirming that at anytime, from this point and onward, they might be called on to fight as a Konoha shinobi. There had been notices that food would now be rationed as a precaution should an enemy gain hold of their main trade routes. There was also a call to practice energy and water conservation, to take up storing preservatives, to hoard batteries and toilette paper.

All of these, he could have dealt with.

Except that this morning, a set of little metal tags hung from a simple chain had been distributed to all individuals, Genin and up. Dog tags, a Leaf symbol stamped on the backs; name, rank and presiding superior marked on one... and on the other: next of kin, as well as who should be notified in the case of death. He vaguely remembered struggling when filling out the paperwork and trying to decided who to even put down in this area. ...He hoped Iruka wouldn't mind.

He'd had to sit down for a while and stared at them before forcing himself to put them on. He'd faced death before. He had experienced the cold, acrid pressure slowly closing in around the organ of the heart. He didn't want to die. It was the very thought that made his pulse increase, panic flood his system, adrenaline. War was coming; people were going to die, there was no way around it.

Well, dammit, he wasn't going to concentrate on things that he had no control over. So people were going to die. In the least, he could protect those that he wanted to live. That he had a say in. That was a goal worthy of attaining. 

Now, as he scoured the town, there was an extra jingle that came from around his neck before he closed his hand over it and stuffed it back down the front of his shirt to join his pendant. 

Craning his neck, hating that he was so frustratingly short, trying to look over the other people -- how hard _was_ it to find a giant, white-haired man-

He yelped when his feet were hoisted off the ground by the back of his jacket, and for the life of him the utter surprise had him freezing up -

"You're not very cautious, brat."

He relaxed, legs dangling limp, arms crossed. "Humph. And you're a know-it-all geezer, Perv-sennin."

* * *

Hands gathered in front of his chest, index and middle fingers pointing skyward, his eyes were closed, head down turned. His feet were separated. Feel the rolling tide of heat and movement within the body; liquid fire... An intense burning in the gut, spreading to the lungs, seeping into the bones of the ribcage, filling the marrow, his body becoming like an oven -- there!

Rapidly, his fingers danced into a series of intricate positions, performing his seals with abject concentration, taking a cleansing breath as he finished the last sign, so deep his chest puffed out, his nostrils flared, his head drew back and, shifting all his Chakra where he could utilize it, threw his head forward, forcing air from lips.

A long, clear stream of water erupted from his mouth, spanning a distance of approximately eight feet before dying out to a trickle and dribbling off his chin.

"No, no, no! Dammit, are you trying at all?!"

"Yes!" The boy savagely wiped his mouth with his wrist, "Yes! Get off my back, I'm doing as best I can..."

The man dragged a hand down his face before resting his palm against his chin, one side of his lip curling to show a canine, "You're not going to do any harm with _that_ Water Element attack. Maybe you could get someone's shirt wet but... Look, you're not good at these complex chakra maneuvering, much less-"

"Look, I can do it, okay?!" He was snarling down at his little fists, "I've got to. Sasuke can do a Fire Element attack, so I should be able to-"

"Sasuke," came a flat-toned interruption, "Is better than you at controlling Chakra-"

Tanned face went a little red, starting at the ears and covering the cheeks and forehead in mottled splotches, "Hey, shut up! You don't know _anything_-"

The movement, despite trained eyes and hair-trigger reflexes, was not mentally registered before his back was quite suddenly on the ground, his breath was quite suddenly forced from his body, and a sandaled foot was quite suddenly occupying his chest, right between the clavicle, so that the first tread of the shoe was pressing quite firmly down on his trachea. There was a series of rapid-fire blinking, so that his brain almost registered strobe-light surroundings, and he squirmed and flailed until sneaky little spots began creeping around in his peripherals.

"I know," came a voice from the dark shape above him, "_everything_. And if you want in on a little of my wealth of knowledge, be a little respectful. Geez."

In such a position, the boy was observed while his struggling turned to feeble twitches in the fingertips, and his mouth went slack. It felt like only half a second of time, but when he refocused his eyes he realized his unofficial sensei was leaning back against a tree, placidly writing in a notebook. Tapping the eraser of his pencil against his top lip in thought.

"... Damn." He rolled over onto his stomach and rested his chin on the ground, watching his fingers as he picked at the grass. He... _hated_ humiliation. With absolute loathing.

The irritating silence of late summer permeated for a time, full of the twittering of rodents and the scratching of pencil lead over paper until the man felt good and ready to continue. Slipping his pencil behind his ear, his notebook was returned to a side pouch and he rested his hands on his knees, "You ready to listen to me now?"

The muffled response came from the inside of the boy's elbows, "Whatever."

The man drummed his fingers lazily on his knees and inspected a thumb nail. "I can wait all day. Age lends a man patience."

"Okay, _fine_," the boy rolled over and sat up, legs crossed, leaning forward, "I'm listening, see? See me? I'm listening."

The man sighed. The kid's stubbornness loaned him a great deal of determination when it was appropriately directed. But these past few weeks he was becoming progressively more difficult to deal with. Yes, things were growing more demanding for the village as a whole, and yes there were more pressures and concerns closing in on the boy personally, but there really wasn't any excuse he was going to allow. He was almost five times this boy's elder, and had more experience than most other shinobi in existence.

He was going to train his way, or he wasn't going to train anyone at all.

"This Sasuke fixation is getting on my nerves. I'm not teaching you any of these techniques so you can use them against people in your own village." He narrowed his eyes before a denial could be uttered. "Yeah, I do know that your sensei hasn't been teaching you anything helpful lately. You must have noticed by now that a Jounin tends to pick _one_ of their pupils out for extra attention and you simply are not going to be it."

The boy, in the mean time, was kneading his fingers into the dirt. Working it like clay; he could feel it under his nails.

The man rumbled irritably in his throat. This approach wasn't working. "Look, kid. You could do just about any technique you set your mind to, and you probably wouldn't even need an instructor for most of it. Right now, with the pressure being set on defending the village, your priority should be to control the Nine Tails, and call on its power in as quick of a means as possible."

The answer was murmured, and replied with as few muscles moving as possible, "I can _already_ use it when I needa'."

"Then there's nothing I can teach you for now." Said dismissively to the open sky, a blade of grass idly chewed, "Go home and practice channeling it. Use an egg timer, try to shorten the time it takes to summon it until you can call on it instantly. Then come back and see me."

He got no response.

He used a more curt tone, "Dismissed."

"Tsh," was the only acknowledgement his instruction got, and the boy got up and walked away, head low between shoulders.

He watched the little orange and blue shape grow smaller until it reached the edge of the clearing and leapt like a squirrel to the nearest branch, and was off. (The both of them enjoyed the isolation of the forest for their exercises; they'd gotten some interesting looks before when training too close to the village, and a passerby happened to hear them conversing about harnessing the Nine Tails.)

That was, possibly, one of the issues they were having the most difficulty with. So long as the boy was learning techniques, he was endlessly excited and eager but... he got _snappy_ when the topic of Kyubi was brought up too frequently. Rather irritable. Well, he may _not_ be comfortable knowing such a beast was imprisoned within his body, but this again he wasn't allowing to be an excuse. It was just the source of a problem.

No one, it seemed, had spent the time of working with Naruto privately when he was younger, to teach him how to manipulate his highly unique Chakra. Only now was he beginning to correctly process it; it was no small wonder he had a hard time keeping up in school. Though a short attention span and inert stubbornness and refusal to cooperate _were_ issues, these might have simply been byproducts of his original dysfunction.

A normal ninja child spent nearly all their energy calling up stamina to convert to Chakra, while this boy... though he did have a generic human supply of power he also had a whole other reserve just waiting to be called upon. With no guidance, however, he could only compare his advancement to that of his classmates and, seeing that their Chakra levels were lower, he developed the detrimental habit of pushing his raging bonfire of Chakra _down_ when trying to perform his jutsu -- and how the _hell_ was one supposed to do jutsu if they were fighting against their own Chakra?!

They needed him _capable_.

Time was running short. You could feel it in the very air; the painful anxiety. The possibility of defeat was... not unlikely. The Hidden Leaf were talented at bouncing back from overwhelming tragedy, and had time and again miraculously pulled themselves from the edge of a crumbling civilization. Looking up from his position, just over the tops of the trees one could make out the carved stone forehead and eyes of the First Hokage, who had at one time been nothing more than a wandering Missing-nin who founded a village where talent and skill had been an original _requirement_ to join its numbers. That was why each clan within the walls had its own special talents. They weren't Advanced Bloodlines (not all of them, anyway) but they were a weaker strain similar to it, where natural talent in specific fields gave them a considerable edge

... Every individual who could _crawl_, capable of throwing a shiruken was going to have to be ready to fight and defend their hard-earned home.

And with Naruto out of his hair for a while, he wasn't going be quite so hypocritical as to neglect his own talents. He removed the scroll from his back, unfastening a few cumbersome unnecessary satchels. It was a dark, unpleasant knowledge, but though the Akatsuki were likely more of a threat than Orochimaru would ever be... They weren't exactly a concern of his. They were such a younger generation of super-powered freaks of nature, born with far too much skill to keep them human -- but they were from the younger generation nonetheless. It was the kids' responsibility to take care of them.

Orochimaru... was not. The Three Ninjas, left to their own devices, still had a long life ahead of them, but despite, there was such a _colossal_ age gap. It wasn't just because between the time he had been young up to the day the Nine Tailed fox had been sealed the village had little time to draw a breath before having to step into the next war, the next threat, and lose most of the ninja in their prime. Life presented so many opportunities to die, and there were so many geniuses that created techniques that utilized true, ultimate power, techniques that could win any fight... and all with the minor catch of one surrendered life. The young... tended to want to die young.

Fourth Hokage... He'd told that brat so many times the downside of giving up your life for a cause is that you don't get to hang around to see if the sacrifice even succeeds.

How horrible it was, then, to be in ones golden years, alone in the forest, training like you're a kid, and to know that the village was looking to him to kill Orochimaru. Maybe Tsunade as well but anyone old enough to remember them knew to the question: "Who could kill Orochimaru", the obvious answer was and always would be "Jiraiya." Their rivalry ran back to boyhood.

Gotta take responsibility for your own generation, after all...

* * *

Shaking hands, trembling fingers, weak and useless. It was as though they were frostbitten; they twitched and moved without command, yet the nerves connecting them to the brain were simply... numb. And the only sensation within them was pain. Frost bite pain. Burning pain. Like gangrene. The eternal pain of death, each minute the knowledge one's vital limbs are simply... necromantic and forgetting to rot.

Sluggishly, one hand was placed on top of a scroll in his lap, trying to pin it down while unresponsive fingers were dragged across the scroll's lip, trying to paw it open for viewing. This was... an utmost humiliation. Never before, never in his rather long and productive life, had he ever considered the remotest possibility of being crippled. Disgusted, he sat back. "Open it. I cannot."

There were not many people in his existence that he felt qualms against killing. Indeed, he found a somewhat un-shinobi appreciation for the suffering of others, both physical, emotional and mental. But, for now, he was very glad he had spared Kubito most of his tortures. Because the young man was genuinely helpful. He didn't say anything as he approached, and when he unstayed the scroll and opened it, he did so so that it was facing away from him. Not even trying to see. Not even _curious_.

Earlier that month, through a long series of subordinates trading messages to subordinates, he'd received a short, precise and up front message, in a clear yet characterless handwriting.

Yes... Depend on the Akatsuki's messages to be as colorless as their members. Pretending to be polite, as usual. Pretending to be official and legitimate. Powerful as hell, frightful and unaccustomed to being denied... anything, really. Brats, all of them. Unaware there was ever a time when power was once gained through a life time of developed experience, hard work and self discovery.

"_-that you have recently been stirring up Konoha-_" 

Previous letters had said.

_"-while we have business involved there, and insist that you decease your actions until our own party has accomplished its specific goals-_"

Previous letters had said.

Not long back, unwilling to give them cause to try smoking him out for a personal conference, he had finally sent a reply, dictating his words carefully to Kubito, whose superior penmanship put theirs to shame.

_"-apologize, but I defected from the Akatsuki specifically so I could follow my own personal agenda without having to defer to others. In any event, it is the Sand shinobi, not I, who are currently stirring up Konoha. I no longer have dealings with either-_"

His reply had said.

"-_however, if there is anything I could do to aid your business, I do still have connections among the Leaf, and offer my services so long as they do not interfere with my own plans-_"

His reply had also said.

"Keep turning...," he said, mouth grim, as he read their subsequent scroll.

"_-are not yet ready to divulge our intentions to those outside of our organization. We are not without our own resources at this time, and have no need of untrustworthy alliances. If, however, circumstances change, we may reconsider. For future reference, however, should you not cause us reason to crush you, we may reconsider the option of working out a mutually beneficial arrangement at a later time-_"

It was frustrating in a way. And delightful in another. They didn't want to close the door on him anymore than he wanted them to. They were not allies, oh, heavens no. To meet together in person would likely incite them to try destroying one another. But they didn't want to be enemies, either. Not just yet; with Konoha still throbbing in the background, growing ever stronger despite the many checks in power bizarre circumstances had thrown at them. No conflict as of _yet_ set them back more than a few years.

How he could have molded that power were he to have been made Hokage. Even now, to watch the children thriving there... made him want to kill them. The children, especially, because it was too late to become their lord. They would never look up to him, as youth in past generations had. And because he could not have them, could not have their cute little faces turned to him for guidance, for praise, for direction... he wanted to destroy them. If he couldn't have them, he wanted no one else to. He would give them a chance, one by one, when the time came. Not to the adults; they already blew it, but to the generation who had been too young to remember him, who had't before been given the opportunity... he would give them one chance. To drop and kneel before him.

Some of them would. There were always some who would, so save themselves. And once he had killed every last Leaf ninja that dared defy him, he would take the survivors and start over. He would merge his Sound-nin with the remnants of the Leaf-nin and become the new Hokage of Those Hidden in the Rustle of the Leaves.

... after making absolutely sure Tsunade and Jiraiya were dead, of course. Can't have the other two out of The Three plotting any drastic measures now...

"Have they accepted our offer to aid them?" The inscrutable medic asked, pushing glasses up nose with a finger. Yeah. His age was about the limit. Kabuto was, after all, still a child in his own right -- all Konoha shinobi his age and younger, he would permit to live, so long as they pledged him loyalty. He _was_ merciful in his own way, after all...

He chuckled low in his throat, "They don't trust me enough to even tell me what it is they want."

"... but we already know what they want."

He knew his smile wasn't one of his better qualities, but he did it anyway, "Which is delightfully ironic. They want the Nine-tails, and under no circumstances do I want them to get it." Even he suppressed a shudder, "They are powerful enough as it is. I can't afford for them to get any more of an edge over me; I'm already dancing on the blade of their sword."

"Then? What do you desire me to do?"

Heavy pause, mulling over possibilities. He would have enjoyed the luxury of tapping fingertips against chin. "For now, let us do the Leaf an indirect favor."

A silver eyebrow was raised.

"Let's kill a few dozen of them, and help them stay on their toes for a while."

"We're going to attack them?"

He leaned back in his chair, chin tilted upward, forcing his fingers to interlace in his lap, "Yes."

"...," this was considered for only a moment before the order went entirely unquestioned, "I'll alert the Sound."

"Good boy."

* * *

The tense day turned into a tense night, and found the local Jounin and senior Chuunin population of the Leaf village assembled for address by the Hokage.

All kneeling to face her as she sat there behind a low table, she staring out among them, and at the ten or so current Jounin instructors standing in the forefront. She did not enjoy wearing the hat, nor did she enjoy the feelings she experienced as her eyes travel to the seat she once occupied on the _other_ end of the table. If not for the silent presence of Jiraiya crouching silently behind her, she would not have been able to tolerate being here. She is thinking about... many things. About how she never would have expected herself to shoulder the weight of being Hokage. About how it was before this very same table she and Jiraiya had knelt to sign their papers before leaving the village for an indefinite amount of time. Thinking about a little brother. About other times of war.

She lost the two people she loved most in the same war. In fact... right... behind that man over there... was where she'd first met the man she had and would always love above all others, Dan. That time, the assembly had been discussing tactics for survival in battle with other shinobi.

Just like now.

Ah, the foreboding. Ah, the nostalgia. Ah, the divine irony. She could just puke.

"Hn. Okay, close the doors. Whoever else isn't here isn't going to be here. I'm not tolerant of tardiness." Her gaze slipped to the last Jounin to arrive, who was conveniently averting his one-eyed gaze in another direction. Once the doors had been sealed and two shinobi placed outside, swords drawn to ward away possible trespassers, she leaned over, elbow on table, supporting chin on knuckles, she turned to the man at her left, "First, have the Sand agreed yet to discussing collateral for the destruction they've caused us?"

The man was working the skin on his forehead and only murmured darkling, "The only thing their spokesman seemed willing to offer so far is a written apology. Which they have yet to deliver..."

"Nnn...," she closed her eyes. "Gentlemen, this is not looking good at all. I don't like sitting back and waiting for our enemies to attack us."

A shuffling, possibly head ducking a little to hid behind the other shinobi to maintain a degree of anonymity, "... are you suggesting maybe we attack first? Ah. Can we even do that?"

"I would certainly love to. Those Hidden in the Sand have always irritated me. However," she grimaced, "the Minister is eager to put this matter behind him. As far as he's concerned, this issue is settled. The Sand have surrendered, and we're making a point to _not_ let him know how damaged the village is. We can't afford him trying to give us 'slack' by directing commissions elsewhere. Already all our intake is being directed to weapons production... to lose anymore and the villagers are going to have to start hunting and growing their own food, and we don't have room within the walls for crops enough to feed everyone."

No one seemed eager to reply to this, so she went ahead and closed the issue, "So unless...," she sighed, "... _until_ we're attacked, I want to avoid involving the politicians. They've never seen battle, and can offer no useful help except getting in the way with useless papers."

The floor was getting a lot of attention tonight; most people were looking down at it. She inspected their faces. She allowed a ghost of medic's Chakra to inspect the room. She had the utmost respect for these men and women, keeping straight faces and formal postures. Because they were filled with dread. Their body temperatures were high, their underarms were damp with sweat. Their hearts were beating loudly. The past twelve years of this village had been spent in peace and prosperity -- it was what the Fourth Hokage had given his life for.

But anyone who had been a ninja prior to these past dozen years knew the true meaning of war. And they did not want to experience it again.

She didn't either, but that wasn't going to stop her from pressing forward, "Our best chance of pulling through is to be prepared." There was a series of encouraging nods. "And right now, I want to address the issue of... children. And _their_ preparation for all of this."

From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Jiraiya shift his weight for a moment.

That certainly brought on an uncomfortable shuffling. One voice tentatively brought out, "... surely the children aren't going to fight...?"

Another joined it, "But they could _die_-"

Her impenetrable gaze fanned across the room, freezing all other protests.

"We _all_ could die. I'm well aware of the costs of war. I've personally lost a kid brother, who was barely a Genin." Any who had seen her after the incident knew better than to doubt her knowledge in the world of loss. "But he died defending his _people_. It is a truly honorable death. I'm not suggesting we strap weapons and vests on every tot who can walk; what I mean is that our current Genin are phenomenal fighters; especially those who participated in the Chuunin exams. Hadn't you noticed not _one_ of them failed to make it to the Third trial?"

"Uh...," one of the Jounin instructors raised a palm to draw her attention, "I didn't enter my team... I've been instructing them for two years now and still don't think _they_ could pass even the _first_ exam." A few of the others nodded their heads, one elaborating, "Actually, Gai is the only instructor outside of the rookies' senseis to even nominate his group." 

She huffed at the table. She was hoping for some agreeability on this, "I will admit that nearly all of the rookies this year seem to be extraordinary from the rest, but that doesn't mean the previous years' Genin are inferior. If anything, they have more experience as official ninjas..."

"I, for one, agree." Kakashi said, one knee drawn up to rest an elbow on -- the man really had no regard for... "I feel confident my team could contribute to our numbers."

"You _would_," the first instructor spoke again, "You've not only got the Uchiha kid _and_ the Nine Tails brat in your group, but you've also got the girl with the highest IQ from the entire graduating class!"

Asuma plucked cigarette from lips to correct, "_Second_ highest. I've submitted Shikamaru's new test results to the record committee."

"Which goes to show you've also got a genius in your group!" Came another's reply, "But you must keep in mind that most of us are dealing with average, _normal_ children-"

Gai brought a broad calloused hand against the floor loud enough to gain attention, "Normal children are just as spry and capable of excellence as genius-class. It took Lee less than a year to learn how to start opening his Celestial Gates, and he couldn't even perform a simple Henge no Jutsu. It took a lot of persuasion on my part to even allow him to pass the academy."

Quickly trying to regain control -- Jounin could be as competitive as school children as far as their pupils were concerned -- she pointedly readjusted herself. When one of The Three made a move, it was noticed. Always. "I'm glad you've brought that up, Gai. Though it _is_ a forbidden technique to minors, you're correct in that, though young, these youth _are_ capable of not only learning advanced jutsu previously thought beyond their normal boundaries, but utilizing it properly."

Hyuga, a well-known voice in avocation of merciless training for children and adults alike, was quick to agree, "Indeed. I was surprised to find that Neji was able to successfully perform Kaiten, even without proper tutelage. If more attention is loaned to his advancement-"

"Precisely." She said, not wanting anyone else to try leading this gathering. She was new at being Hokage but she was a _veteran_ at being a leader. "With the peaceful times in Konoha Village, our earlier generations have been slacking off. Kurenai, here, is one of the only _new_ shinobi to have made it to Jounin level since I left over a decade ago."

The aforementioned kunoichi kept her gaze level with the front of the room, the edges of her ears turning red, as other heads of senior Chuunin sank with embarrassment.

She wasn't trying to shame her people, and was quick to continue, "But our children have not been taking it easy. Without meaning to, our hope has been placed onto their shoulders long before any real trouble developed. And in their subconscious, they feel it. These are our hope, and they have been doing their best to live up to expectations. And if not to defend our village and increase our power... what use are they as ninja at all?"

"There's no use mollycoddling them." Jiraiya timed his rendezvous with the conversation perfectly. "They're all kids now, but if we're not the ones who push them to the edge of their limits, someone else is going to. And they're not going to do it gently." His dark eyes scanned the curious faces that turned to him; his presence hadn't gone unnoticed, but his silence up until now had almost passed him off as an exotic statue. A silent sentry. "Without them, we damn well could lose. And if we lose, what do you imagine will become of the kids, then?

I know a lot of you are parents. Or uncles or siblings or cousins or whatever. I've been talking to these Jounin instructors, and I've been watching for a while now, and I've seen these brats pull off some pretty awesome moves when pushed to their limit. Desperation gives a man this incredible ability to do just about anything to survive, and if we're there behind them, not pushing them behind us, we can guide this incredible ability. But without our logic there to nudge them in the right direction at that crucial moment... Children do some pretty stupid things sometimes. Especially the talented ones." This was sinking in. She could feel it. With Jiraiya talking, she was free to observe; even as gradual and hesitant acceptance passed over their faces, she was steeling herself as well.

Addressing the Jounin instructors, she kept her face blank and confident, her voice even and her teeth showing just behind her lips, "If you do not feel your pupils are ready to do combat, I will trust your intuition. You know the most about them, and I do not want to deploy a liability instead of a soldier. If, however, you have confidence your students are either ready, or able to learn quick enough to catch up... then come and see me. I also want the parents and guardians of these students to attend." Granite gaze doing a final sweep over faces mixed with determination, confusion, epiphany, she said, "Aside from those people... I'm going to consider this meeting adjourned. Does anyone here have an issue they need addressed?"

Silence heavy with consideration met her.

"Dismissed."

Were these ordinary people, a hum of conversation would have developed. Personal discussion, individual debates. These were ninja, however. And in the face of formality they were in the habit of silence.

She removed her hat and leaned back on her haunches, "Wanna place bets on which instructors come forward?"

Jiraiya snorted, "With an open challenge like that? None of them will want to drop out. Our Genin aren't 'liabilities'." He couldn't help but grin morosely. "Even if they really aren't ready..."

"If they're not ready now, we don't have time to wait for them-"

"Um... excuse me..."

She turned back to face the room, which had mostly emptied save those she had asked to stay after. A rather young man had approached her table, and she had to wrack her memory to recall his name -- the wide scar that symmetrically crossed his nose helped her remember, "You're... little Iruka, aren't you? You're parents fought bravely against the Nine Tails. They were good people and are sorely missed."

The young man relaxed somewhat, "Oh. Thank you very much..." He folded his hands behind his back and assumed a rigidly formal posture, "I... I was Naruto's teacher in the academy. You asked for parents and guardians of the Genin to come forward but... since Naruto has neither, I request permission to stand in on his behalf."

This was a genuine surprise for her; the general consensuses she'd picked up from the village was that few even tolerated the boy.

"That's not necessary," Kakashi said, his hands loosely hanging in pockets, "I can speak for my own subordinates. You are no longer needed."

Her eyes scanned the group of people remaining; it was still a large number, with Jounin and parents present. All of them were older warriors, broken in and firmly settled, with developed families of their own... Actually, it might be nice to have someone a little younger mixed in with the group. "I don't see why he can't stay, if he has the kid's best interests in mind."

The man bowed low at the waist, "I really appreciate it."

"I want to start this by saying that I don't want _anyone_ to die." She went ahead and jumped right back in, feeling somewhat exhausted by all of this, with a divine headache developing right behind the diadem in her forehead. "Especially not any of our precious children. But even more than that, I don't want any of them to experience true helplessness in the chance that war _is_ an outcome. If we train them hard, and we miraculously avoid this conflict in peace, then the only result will be strong, well-prepared young ninjas, who we can show off at the next Chuunin exam. If not, and if they do have to fight -- there is _no_ guarantee they won't die anyway. But at least we can lower the chances of them having to die on their knees."

This, sharp and blunt as it was, was having its desired affect on its listeners. The Jounin did not need to be told, but the parents... perhaps this was the first time they were being forced to imagine it, the irresistible mental image of their darling babies, face-down in their own blood, in the mud and in the rain with their comrades piled dead beside them... She was fighting the trembling, herself. (_Dan_... _I stopped the bleeding_...)

"So...," she drawled with a limp-wristed gesture, "While I'm going to want to talk to each of you individually, I'm going to ask Kakashi and Gai to come to the front, since you both were inclined to teach your protégé jutsu out of their jurisdiction."

She got a sadistic amusement out of the looks the two men exchanged. They were two of the brightest Jounin available at this time... and they were both scared to death of her. To think back... she might have belted either of them a few solid times for cheek when they were younger. She laced her fingers under her nose and looked them intermittently square in the eyes, "Gentlemen, I know you both have good reason for what you've done. But that does not excuse you for it. Gai, I'm freeing myself up next week to try performing the surgery on Lee... I'm not going to try talking you or him out of it, but his condition is partially a result of performing moves _no_ man is meant to perform and live through."

The normally robust and cheerful man was grim, and only nodded his head, "Yes, ma'am. Please, just... do your best."

She sighed. From the past few sessions she'd been looking at Lee it was very apparent the boy and his sensei were very close... much closer than he was with his natural parents. (Had they even stayed around? She didn't see them...) They really gave their all for each other. Tried so hard it was no longer an entirely healthy thing.

She rustled her nerves back together, "And Kakashi... I'm more skeptical about your motives for teaching Sasuke the Chidori. You've said it yourself, that the jutsu is specifically designed for _assasins_... for killing."

"Hokage-sama, Sasuke was going up against the same foe that nearly killed Lee in the preliminaries, and there were many complaints filed against his excessive brutality during the Second trial-"

"And yet," she said to her tabletop, "the move did little good against him."

"In his defense...," Gai said, not looking terribly pleased, "I overheard the boys talking in the hospital the day before the Final exam. Gaara was not simply a talented kid... Our village is not the only one with secrets, nor is it the only one with demons. Somehow, around the same time _we_ had sealed the Kyubi into the body of a newborn baby... the Kazekage of the Sand decided to take it a step farther and sealed Shukaku the Sand Demon inside of a yet _unborn_ infant... Incidentally, you've probably already figured out that infant grew to be the Gaara at the exams."

She closed her eyes tightly and grumbled, "Damn. That's too coincidental... Somehow it must have been leaked to them what we did with the Nine Tails."

"Hn. Apples to oranges," Jiraiya said through the side of his mouth, a hand raised and fluttering downward like the flow of a river, "Naruto's nothing like the Sand kid. I've been keeping an eye on him but I've never see him have a problem controlling the Nine Tails. Heh, in a battle of wills the fox stands no chance."

This caused a ripple of movement as all the ninja present were paying careful attention. One near the back -- a parent she did not recognize, so likely a warrior of little consequence, finally asked, "Is that safe? To intentionally show him how to use that... thing?"

The man shrugged a broad shoulder, "Doesn't matter; the Fourth intended him to use it either way. Whether he's shown how to or not, it's there, and it's going to come up. It's probably _safer_ to instruct him how to control it so it doesn't catch him by surprise." Though his eyes remained level, she recognized the wrinkling on the right side of his face, by his nose, which signified annoyance, so she waited patiently for him to say more. "Actually, I've got to wonder why no one else has tried to instruct him _prior_ to me. This isn't the kind of thing that should go ignored."

He looked from Kakashi to Iruka, "You two are the closest to parental units he'll ever have, but have either of you even _discussed_ using the Nine Tail's Chakra with him? He'd used it more than once before running into me... are either of you familiar with the incidents? He didn't even know where the power was coming from." The two men readjusted their postures; she wanted to smack Kakashi like a little kid for not behaving appropriately ashamed for neglecting the issue. Little Iruka, at least, looked rather miserable. "I can tell you this much, though: Sasuke's got that mark on his neck to prove Team Seven ran into Orochimaru in the second exam. Haven't either of you wondered how all three of them survived?"

At the mention of the despicable (and frightening) traitor, there was a coldness that entered the room, catching a few breaths in throats. In fact, she wasn't all that familiar with the incident and studied her long-time friend's carefully. Maybe no one else could tell, but he was beginning to get... angry.

"Do any of you know that Naruto had been channeling the Nine Tails to try and fight him during that time? Or that Orochimaru had tampered with his seal in the process?" (Another series of sharp intakes of breath.) "Granted, he's always screwing up and smothering his own Chakra, but you two -- especially you, Kakashi, with that eye of yours -- honestly didn't notice that his Chakra was severely... off? Just watching him try to focus in should have been enough to feel it; half his power comes from the Kyubi."

"So...," Iruka finally said, looking... well, devastated at the moment, and the level of concern in his eyes was nearing panic, "You mean he was fighting in the preliminary matches without access to even a _normal_ student's level of power? Is he okay?"

The heated reaction seemed to partially mollify Jiraiya, which helped her to relax as well, "Yeah, it's no problem now. Orochimaru's methods were... rather rough; it takes a pretty violent force to push a seal onto someone who's in defensive mode, but apparently the kid survived it well enough. Removing it took a lot less effort, and after just a month with me I hear he cleanly channeled Kyubi against the Hyuga kid. It must have been beautiful." Looking at the two instructors for a moment, he said rather bluntly, "Oh. Never mind, neither of you were there to see it. Hn. At least the Third got to witness it before he died."

She made a point of shuffling her papers loudly enough to draw attention to her, though pretending not to. In a low tone, scanning the sheets in her hands, she said, "Hm. Kakashi, I was under the impression that Naruto was placed under your care because you were the most likely of all the Jounin to find a successful means of training him."

The one-eyed man was finally beginning to react, though only because he looked mildly annoyed, "I have not been neglecting my duty as sensei to any of my students."

"I believe you," she said, tone unreadable, still scanning her papers, "Though the facts still stand. You failed to notice when one of your Genin was having a potentially serious problem, which could possibly have killed him if left untended for too long, in order to teach an assassination technique to a minor. You could lose your Jounin status for that..." She let this hang, hoping for just a moment to let him squirm though he made no movements, "You're not going to, of course. In any event, as far as the paper work goes Naruto, Sasuke and Sakura are still _your_ charges. Unofficially... Jiraiya has already begun taking responsibility for Naruto's unique talents."

Kakashi's posture reminded her of an irritated cat, ears and whiskers back, pretending to not be pissed. It was not everyday the Copy Ninja was scolded, especially in front of a room full of people. Perhaps the Third had been a little too lenient on his subordinates this past decade...

"Please...," Iruka, much too young to be able to tolerate the intensity of standing in the midst of so many upper class shinobi, simply cut to the core of his issue, "I just want to know what you're going to do with Naruto. I realize more every day that I've been underestimating him; he's come a long way from his performance at the academy, I didn't... even when he was my student I didn't know how to..." He was keeping a formal posture, but looking positively despondent, "And, to teach him to use the _Nine Tails_... I don't think I would have been able to, even if I'd known how."

"No one knows," Jiraiya lounged back against the wall behind him, "There's never been a kid with a type of power like Naruto's before. That's probably why Kakashi here hasn't tried to yet -- his pride gets in the way. It's not tough teaching a kid like Sasuke, who's got the same wiring as any other brat. It's a lot harder for one who's done everything flawlessly on the first try their entire life to venture into a chore they don't even know how to _begin_. I'll go ahead and admit it, I don't really know what I'm going to be doing in the long run. Probably as little as possible, since... well, though the kid _is_ human, human body, even a supply of human power, his connections are entirely different from mine and anyone else's."

He rested his wrists on knees, looking up at the ceiling, "What I've been doing so far is basically introducing ideas to him, and then just stepping back and letting him figure out how to do it himself. He's the only one who knows how that body of his works. That's why the Fourth put the seal on an _infant_: no adult already set in their ways would be able to use it." He made an uneven grin, "And he's doing just fine. Once I introduced the concept, he learned _Rasengen_ in a _week_..."

"That... is a wonder," Iruka's rigidity was... melting, as he found an ally, "Naruto really does try. He's never lazy, and puts his all into everything he does. But about teaching himself... I had never considered it before. When he seemed to fall behind, I tried spending more time with him outside of class, but it never seemed to help." Here, he paused to chuckle, "You know, he taught himself Kage Bunshin in just one night, yet after all these years he probably _still_ couldn't do a single Bunshin."

The nervous anxiety of the room was ripped in half by Jiraiya's heavy laughter, "That backwards runt -- it doesn't surprise me in the least."

And she remained leaning over the table, smiling, mood much improved for the long duration of the night.

* * *

To be continued.


	4. Part Four

**Transition Anchor  
Part Four**

He was well-adapted to weeks, even months, without electricity. It was kind of like camping, really, only more luxorious. With four walls, a roof and running water. With such amenities, one can't complain!

Candles were lit throughout the apartment. In truth, the warm orange light made meditative jutsu easier and softened vision for the weary eye. A small metal cup of water was set to boil atop his little gas stovetop for ramen. On colder nights, he would pull his feather blanket (second hand, stained but still pretty lumpy with old turkey feathers) tight around his shoulders and huddle by that little stove. On hotter nights... well, in an empty house there really wasn't any shame in sleeping nude; the faux tiles in the kitchenette area usually retained an amount of coolness, so long as he didn't mind the red marks that developed on whatever side he was sleeping on.

It was well past midnight and dark enough that he stubbed his toe on the way to the bedroom area. The street lamps outside could have loaned extra light but he'd systematically gone through the house to close all the blinds, not wanting anyone to see his nightly activities (not even sure if the majority of his fellow villagers would even find them entirely _legal_...)

He would have preferred the outdoors; it was a far safer area to exercise his Chakra (more than once he'd accidentally scorched his floorboards, and had even erupted a rug into a blazing fire once.) But it was too dangerous for him to go outside at night anymore. Though he tried not to dwell on things he had no control over, and despised letting an enemy control _any_ aspect of his schedule... he couldn't afford to take stupid risks. Not with an enemy like the Akatsuki.

So... he was dwelling on other things. Things no more comforting, mayhap, but at least problems that had already been addressed.

A stolen scroll, betrayal, first confirmed ally ...a shocking secret.

Prior to the last Genin exam he'd attended, he'd never even met Mizuki before. Mizuki, who had so... unpleasantly crushed the fragile grip on normalcy he'd held his first twelve years of life. What was it that made _that_ particular man snap, what drove him to be the first to finally get around to mentioning the existence of the Nine Tails within him? Rather, what was it that led him to want _that_ particular scroll, on _that_ particular night, after having tricked _him_, of all the other children?

Though once it's boiled down, perhaps it's not all that difficult telling a kid forbidden information if you're intending to murder him shortly anyway.

Actually, you can do lots of things to a kid in a position like that.

Ung. He really hated thinking of that portion of that evening. It was so... stupid. For lack of better word. He would do it all again, if it meant getting Iruka to be his friend, but even he had to wonder, in the privacy of his own home, in the candlelight of a dark night... what _could_ have happened, had Iruka _not_ found him first? Would Mizuki have come sauntering out of the forest, smile on face, one hand extended to 'take that scroll off his hands' while his other held a knife behind his back? Or would he have simply cut loose from the foliage with one of those giant shuriken?

Those things ...would have done quite a bit more damage to him than they had to Iruka. He was a rather little kid, body-wise. Iruka wasn't a big guy either, but he'd completely sheltered Naruto's smaller form from that loosed weapon (warm splatter of blood on his face and some tears. Nice, teach' real nice.) so it was pretty likely he could have lost a limb or two had it successfully hit him.

Ick.

Either way, no matter how much sense they make, no matter how legitimate and logical their words are, you simply _cannot_ blindly accept the word of a man who is trying to kill you.

Iruka had been hesitant to confirm anything regarding the the Nine Tails ("-strict _ban_ on that topic, Naruto; I could be banished just as easily as Mizuki, you know-") so, the very next day, he'd gone to personally ask the Third Hokage about the matter. (As well as... well, apologize for breaking into his house, assaulting him with the Sexy-no-jutsu and robbing him of a valuable item, even if he _did_ return it later that night, albeit spotted with blood ...Eheh.)

All of these thoughts drifted his mind as he paced his house with anxious energy, pausing at his mirror, barefoot and shirtless, inspecting his biceps, his abdominals, lamenting his narrow shoulders and chest, which had changed little since he was _ten_. He fingered his pendant first ...and then his dog tags. He wasn't feeling terribly good right now. There _was_ a few notions to crawl into bed, curl into a little ball under his covers and... what? Scream into his pillow? Sounded tempting. Rage and maybe cry a little? No one was around... It was one of those rare moods he just wanted to cry "Uncle!" 

Eh... Really, it was a waste of time; the urge would pass eventually. It always did. Instead, he poured the now boiling mug of water into his instant ramen and sat back, waiting for it to soften. He looked around his home, eye pausing on a stool which he seriously considered hurling through a window. Night was always too quiet. No one had officially told him he couldn't leave his house but... Argh, this whole situation was too complicated for his liking. To make public the threat of the Akatsuki would mean to make public that they were after him, Naruto, the 'Nine Tails Brat', and to do that would involve making public _why_ they wanted him, which went against the heavy restrictions _on_ that topic... He hated the stillness of an empty apartment at night. He needed action. He needed excitement. He needed chaos.

For now, he would have to be satisfied with not-quite-done noodles. As he sucked them down, he was still thinking about that evening earlier this spring when he'd visited the Hokage.

The man had been surprisingly open to answer anything ...which was a shame, because he'd only had one real question. 

"..._So, am I really the demon fox?_"

"_No_." No pause for relief, "_But it **is** inside of you_."

"... _Oh_." There wasn't really much else he could think to ask. The pure volume of that single fact gobbled up his entire arsenal of comprehensive thought.

So it was fortunate the Hokage went on ahead, "_Naruto, let me show you something_." And he led the way through his household, back to the chamber of scrolls (still disheveled from its raiding the night before), "_Part of a Hokage's job is to transcribe the village's history as it unfolds_."

"_Right, I know that_." It was an automatic response on his part.

But the old man had remained standing there, hands clasped behind back, watching him while he looked right back, chin jutted, posture defiant... and readjusted his brand new hitae forehead protector.

A deep wheezened sigh, and a series of scrolls were plucked from an upper shelf and steeped into a much smaller pair of arms, "_These document the account of the Kyubi's defeat_." Hesitation, "_This will not be light reading_ ..._Nor will it be pleasant or comforting for you_." Wrinkled face blossomed, then, into a rather fond, remorseful smile as weathered hand rested atop blonde hair, "_But in a way I'm relieved_. _You should be allowed to know, and it's a shame you had to find out in such a manner as you did_."

He had dropped to his knees that night, scrolls spilling from his arms, and read the entire account right there on that floor, without another word.

He did not believe in fate, because he did not like knowing he was powerless to control his future. Nor did not believe in karma, that the activities of a past life influenced the joys and sorrows of his currently life, because unlike most people he _knew_ what he'd been prior to this existence, and it hadn't been good.

So he believed in luck. Hard work, too, but mostly just luck, and the divine works of universal irony.

Because it really was luck that he'd come into existence at all.

The Yondaime had never before performed such a procedure as the one that created Naruto. Apparently, there was no record of anyone that _had_. Manipulation of such magnitude was a tricky business; it was not a mere matter of sealing off a _soul_ -- this was binding a creature's _existence_ so tightly its physical body also condensed along with it. And it had to be done by force, with no willingness on behalf of either party it would be worked on.

That it would kill whoever performed the jutsu was an already accepted fact, but there was also no guarantee the _vessel_ in which the demon would be sealed would survive either. Infants were indefinitely fragile creatures and though an adult would have been more likely to survive the _physica_l trauma, the mature fully-developed Chakra of a full-grown human was inflexible. It would have fought any foreign, inhuman Chakra that tried to merge with it, which could easily have resulted in brain damage, as the battling spiritual powers would increase the body temperature until the brain simply cooked in its own juices.

So for safe measures, not just _one_ child had been prepared, but every freshly newborn baby available from the entire village -- there were seven in total; not all the mothers or fathers had been entirely _willing_, but safety of the many outweighed safety of the few. People were dying against the monster in _scores_ on a daily basis. Many, many good people. 

It would have been perfect, too ... had it worked correctly on the first try. Only the parents and few select witnesses to the event would know which of the seven actually had the beast bound with in it, and the chances of a normal life for the child would have increased greatly.

The chances dropped, of course, as one by one the babies began to die.

Held tight in the arms of their mothers and fathers, the black marks of the seal burning across their soft chubby bellies, they howled inhuman screams from such small, tender throats, sounding more akin to the snarling rabid baying of hounds, and their little bodies twisted and arched until their sobbing parents could hardly hold them. Quivering and writhing, jerking and tearing until tiny bones threatened to burst at the joints.

And then, they would hang still.

After the first few were killed in such a manner, it was only the Anbu blocking the doorway that kept the other parents from trying to escape with their bundle of pink, living flesh.

The screeching. The madness of relentless horror, the begging, the hatred and cursing of the Fourth, of the village, of everyone, to the unholy background music of the yowling, dying children; too small to comprehend what was happening, purple-faced and red, mottle skin, stubby fingers clenched even as their wailing pitch reached its crescendo... and stopped. Sobbing. Sobbing of tortured mothers and fathers, tears, blood as the convulsing, screeching little shapes were held too tightly and the fragile, bird-like bones of the ribs were accidentally crushed.

The first six babies had died. Two of the mothers and one of the fathers had been killed by the silent, masked sentry who guarded the exits to prevent interference. The final mother had gone temporarily hysterical; eyes wide and rolling, trying to hide her precious bundle, she had to be pinned against the wall, begging, pleading, crying, snot and tears and saliva so thick across her face she glistened, her shirtfront was wet, one arm held up, trying to ward away...

At first, it was thought to have failed with this infant as well, as its keening and convulsing died off and it hung limp in those two shaking arms, miniature face frozen in a twisted, almost malformed way, unmoving and still, unbreathing and lifeless.

But then ...just before oozing back out, the Nine Tails must have snagged on something in that dead frame. Snagged and caught.

The grape-sized heart, bereft of life yet still full of an alternative living force, began to beat again. For a few seconds, trapped but not fully sealed, the Kyubi was the only occupant of that tiny body. Its blue eyes had gone red as though blood had been dripped into them, two sets of canines squeezed through its barren pink gums and it looked every individual in the eyes with full awareness and abject malice, contorted and evil, and it _hissed_, lips peeled back, nose wrinkled.

The woman screamed and dropped it, just as the seal finished forming on its belly.

Long-since spent of life, the Fourth immediately expired at this point.

The final mother joined the other parents in grieving the loss of her child. Because though the _body_ of her child was still active and moving ...she couldn't believe the _thing_ that had spat at her with such demonic hatred could ever be her tiny, sweet baby. Among the graves erected in the passing weeks afterward, where the bodies of those who had died fighting the monster were buried, seven tiny markers were put up for each of the children.

And twelve years later, after slowly standing up from the Sandaime's scroll room floor, battling ...shock? Not exactly. His mouth gone slack, hands lose at his sides, eyes exposing the white all around his pupils...

He'd gone and visited those seven graves. And had stood before them for a very long time.

For the sake of anonymity, the scrolls had not listed the names of the infants, so he didn't know which of these graves failed to house the tiny skeleton of a long-dead baby. He did not know which of these tiny marble markers ...was his. Which of these belonged to the boy whose body he was now occupying. And he was never going to ask, either. It was just too... weird to think about.

He was Uzumaki Naruto. The entire village recognized the name, if not the face, and there was no running from it. He didn't know where that particular name came from, nor did he particularly care to know. Not dwelling on unpleasant things and all that...

Feh.

Hands gathered in the position he felt most comfortable for concentrating, he pondered.

Even gathering his regular, safe, _socially-accepted_ Chakra -- the Blue Chakra, as he and Jiraiya had come to the habit of calling it for separational purposes -- even gathering _that_ brought out his seal. Funny; he'd always known it was there. It wasn't like it only started coming out once he knew it _was_ a seal -- but with his habitually dismissive approach to life he'd never given much thought to it in his earlier days. Quite a bit younger, at the achademy (four? five, mayhap?), when he and the other children were first learning how to call on their innert power, he'd curiously gone to one of his instructors, shirt lifted up under chin, "_Hey, hey! What's **this**, teach?_"

... come to think of it, that was the first time he'd ever been caned. (It certainly wasn't the _last_; the downside of taking full credit for less-appreciate pranks was that if repeated too often the repercussions grew to be downright painful, and had left him limping for days.) Huh. He _had_ subsequently never showed nor asked about the funny mark again, so it must have left an impression, but he'd never really bothered to question the 'why'.

Well. It was seeping out of his flesh now, like ink through cloth. Plain as day. 

The spiral. He'd chosen the spiral to 'represent the Uzumaki clan', funny as the idea was. It was perfectly even; twining counterclockwise around his naval, forming the trail the Nine Tails must have traveled... He traced a finger down the inner circle, the flesh-colored stripe between the char-black; the mark itself was pretty thick, but the swatch of pink intermittent was the mere width of a finger.

The spiral was the eternal symbol for concentration.

It was a vacuum. A black hole. Any matter caught up in its flow would circle tighter and tighter until it was condensed and unadulterated and pure, all imperfection _squeezed_ from it.

The Fourth must have agreed, since he was the one who'd finger-painted this pretty piece of body art. He'd also utilized the 'spiral' affect in creating the Rasengan... He would definitely be asking Jiraiya next chance he got if the Fourth had come up with any other awesome ideas based from the 'concentration concept'. It was something he was actually beginning to understand and appreciate rather well.

Thinking of the pervert-sennin... "-_your priority should be to control the Nine Tails_-"

Control the Nine Tails. Heels digging into the floor. Work ..._around_ the seal; there _was_ a door, but it wasn't meant for easy locating; through the spiral, control the spiral, pushing into the warm pit of his stomach, the root of his life force. It was through the naval that a mother pumped life into her developing embryo, so it only made sense that it would be the most efficient orifice through which to pump _ulterior_ life forces as well. You didn't have to _ask_ the Kyubi to give you power, he was finding, so long as you were ballsy enough to press up against its cage and simply... reach inside and take a handful.

A feint red glow was starting to illuminate the darker corners of the room, radiating from his skin, and he hoped it wouldn't be visible through the shades.

It got harder from here. He could feel the energy, but like a raging bonfire it was so very wild; how does one control a spiral with the force of a hurricane? 

When low on Blue Chakra, it wasn't so hard; with his palate cleared it was simple to settle the Red Chakra into the emptied notch. It had been... so very easy to control from that vantage, while against Neji. He owed the kid; had the troubled genius not closed off his tenketsus he might have exposed the crowd to something a little more fearsome.

Without his other, more natural and less impressive power out of the way, there simply wasn't enough room in his miniature body to immediately put it _anywhere_; it was like holding a bucket but not having enough space to even over turn it to pour out its contents.

There was only one thing to do once at this level.

You _push_.

And it will have to go somewhere, entering the _veins_, running the spongy material of the bone, the knotted cord of the tendon, filling the entire surface beneath the frail layer of the flesh; it was during _this_ period that it was just _searching_ for ways to expend itself, and would heal the body, replenish lost power, increase the heart rate. And, like shoving a foot into a shoe far too small for you, everything in the way either stretches to make room... or just plain rips, exposing a few toes.

That's what it felt like to call on Kyubi's power. It was ripping and stretching and tearing and breaking every cell of the body to make room for a very large, very forceful cell mate. And somehow, his system always _found_ a way to make room, through little changes in the body; mostly stretches of the mental and physical barriers, but sometimes... things tore, and a bit of the monster was exposed.

When that began to happen, it always started with the eyes.

Pupil melting into a single vertical _swipe_, the pale blue of his iris jumping instantly to red, entirely skipping violet on the color wheel.

...Now that he knew the symptoms, he was pretty sure he'd flashed Sasuke the ol' demon eye once or twice. Heh. (Had it been anyone else, it would have troubled him, but his current grudge allowed his level of concern to be shamefully low. Let the damn genius be a little startled every once and a while; give him something he would be physically _incapable_ of copying with that Sharingen of his.)

To push any farther with the Nine Tails began to alter the more flexible bone tissue: tooth and nail; they extended and sharpened. By this point, were any of the villagers present it would be difficult to _dispute_ the whole "monster-thing", especially since at this stage of merging with his Red Chakra his vocals had also begun to alter, becoming more gravely. Eeesh.

In such a state, he stood, maintaining eye contact with his reflection ...and just let it sink in. This was something he could do. It wasn't pretty, but then again, raw power wasn't meant for aesthetics. Byakugan wasn't pretty. Neither was Sharingen, nor the effects of opened Celestial Gates, nor Gaara's sand. Nor was the monster of Shukaku.

Kyubi was _not_ lovely to behold. It was sick and dangerous and vicious. But it was pure, unadulterated power.

And it was _his_. To not use it would be a foolish waste.

Without provocation, it was difficult to keep his Chakra raging; he had to keep one hand elevated, fore and middle finger aloft to maintain focus. But it was all here. And it was in perfect, controlled working order. A glance to the brass alarm clock he kept by his bed (which he had to remember to wind each morning.)

... Damn.

_Dammit!_

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

That had taken _ten minutes_. On the battlefield he couldn't expect the enemy to just stand there and wait around for him to go through these motions -- he needed to be able to channel Kyubi _instantly_! A lot of people could die in ten minutes --_ whoa_, whoa Okay. Can't get frantic or frustrated when performing this balancing act; his little body supporting such a large load of power made him a little ...top heavy. One small tip and it went a little berserk. It was another thing he had to work on.

Deep breath...

Whoo. Exhale; arm dropping to side. Almost instantly the power abated, sucked back down the swirled vortex of his abdomen, heating his guts for a few seconds (leaving him temporarily queasy), and he had reverted back to his short, harmless (cute, lovable, baby-blue-eyed) ninja self. 

Tomorrow maybe he could cut it down to nine minutes.

It was then that the floorboards jerked beneath his feet.

And that was even before he heard the explosion, after which a shockwave made the entire complex sway.

He stood _very_ still, feeling incriminated, eyes wide, the first thought through his head being '..._Crap, did I cause that?_', just before the distant wail of sirens ripped the darkened night. Crisis sirens.

He raced the room once, tying headband to head, tugging on a shirt, retrieving weapons pouch, strapping on leg-band, hooking belt. Not bothering with the door, he pelted to the window leading to his wobbly porch, the sound slap of bare feet, threw it open, sprung to the rail and vaulted over the edge into the night air.

* * *

To be continued.


	5. Part Five

**Transition Anchor  
Part Five**

After filling his body with the raucous energy of the Nine Tails, running felt very good. There was rarely a time he didn't feel like running; like moving, like shifting from one location to another. He was always quivering with energy; it was never that he didn't _like_ relaxing so much as he was incapable of doing so. But now, the need to burn energy felt as important as the need to breath.

Speed, hair slicked back from pure momentum; the mournful wail of the sirens pricking his adrenaline, drawing his attention to the direction he'd distinctly heard another far-off explosion, the exhilaration of each leap from one roof top to another.

He was jumping farther, moving faster, seeing better now than he normally did. The 'after glow' of dealing with his inner demon; unlike most techniques, channeling it left him with _more_ Chakra than he had before using it. A parting gift of sorts. He wasn't sure if he was at liberty to enjoy it, but he couldn't hate it, either.

Something ...had happened to the electricity in this area. A breaker seemed to have malfunctioned (..or been destroyed...) and all the street lights in the area had gone dead.

He was the first to reach the rendezvous point. Since their first _week_ of becoming Genin, this spot had been defined as the meeting place, whatever time of day, whatever type of weather, the instant the sirens were heard. There had been drills performed, at random times earlier that year, to insure the procedure ran smoothly.

It was dark, but he knew the place well: the location Sakura, Sasuke and he had been accepted by Kakashi as worthy pupils. He could hear the whipping of fabric as the Konoha flag waved in the night breeze over the monument for the many shinobi lost for the good of the mission.

He was starting to wish he'd paused to put shoes on; the metal roofs of the village were rusted and jagged in some areas, and he'd cut his feet. Hands resting on knees, he was bent over, catching his breath. His limits were not defined; he was not tired. His energy was still raging in his body, his muscles quivering.

"You're certainly prompt this evening."

Glancing up, he found Kakashi perched atop one of the wooden posts. "Yeah, I was still awake." Maybe he looked a little sheepish; exercising his control of Kyubi left him feeling a little guilty, like he was breaking some divine rule against it, even if he'd been _instructed_ to do so. He cut it down with, "You are, too. For once."

The man shrugged, "I can still surprise, from time to time." And he remained standing still, looking off into the distance, where a dull rumble could be heard. One of his hands was cupping his ear. (Oh. He could see it now; an earphone.) "I'm getting a broadcast about what we're up against right now. You should have a weapon in hand already. Chakra up, eyes open. Be on your toes. We're not safe right now."

He was not speaking as a sensei addressed a pupil.

He was speaking as a commander addressed a soldier.

He wasn't sure if he was mad at this man at the moment. But it didn't matter right now, because he did not know what was going on. He ..._hated_ not knowing what was going on. And for now, all he could do was depend on his elder's experience. So he had a kunai in hand. Weight shifted to the balls of his feet when the rapid _flap-flap-flap_ of footsteps drew his attention to a dark shape moving amongst the other dark shapes, coming to a stop at the sensei's feet.

... So Sasuke had arrived; metal gleam of his headband at an angle, tell-tale rings of one just woken up still clinging to his eyes, "Kakash-"

"Shh." The man raised a head, his one eye watching as somewhere at a distance, a few miles on the other end of the village, a fire must have started. The dark of night was given a gradual hue of red, reflecting from the clouds. The smell of smoke was beginning to permeate. Naruto could feel his heart beating so clearly he could have described its very shape and size.

The other boy looked at him. He looked back, not quite able to grin with the given situation. "Hey."

He got no response.

Sakura chose that moment to arrive, forehead protector in its rightful place over her brow, one hand laced with a row of shuriken, landing in a crouch between them. One thing you could accredit her with: she was rarely unprepared. Standing up, her face was eerily luminescent in the distant glow of firelight, her eyes were gray without the sun to define their pale green, "What's-"

"Okay." Kakashi said slowly. Dread filled the young trio as, with a movement that almost implied hesitation, the Jounin raised a hand to his face, and raised his headband off his unnatural mismatched eye.

That was never a good sign.

"The village wall has been breached. The enemy have been identified as Sound. There's no proof other villages are not involved." He was being short and to the point; his casual goofiness was gone, what was visible of his expression was wrinkled with strain; the Sharingen looked to be glowing in the otherwise dark shape of his head against the backdrop of barely lighted sky, "Motive for attack is undefined, and we have not provoked them. So it is our right to return the show of force."

For a moment, something in his hardly visible face softened, as did his tone, as he inspected the three of them as though they were tools he had lovingly handcrafted, "You three...are good kids." It felt somehow important. More important than the words would have looked in writing. "I'm proud of each of you, and your abilities..." A stone sinking into the pit of three collective stomachs. Kakashi had seen many comrades die; he hadn't been covert with the fact. But it was a very different thing when it was finally realized he was getting this out of the way in case they should also be killed before he saw them again.

This was ...too real.

"Your mission for now is to defend the village. This isn't competitive combat. You're not going to be graded on your methods. Don't be fancy. Just kill as many as you can." None of these children had killed before. Or been told to do so. "And while you're at it ...you know. Try not to get killed yourself."

They were looking at him with varying shades of horror.

This was happening too fast.

This...

"Well, let's get to it, then. The action is that way." A finger was pointed toward the red haze in the horizon, over the tops of the surrounding foliage. 

And the man was gone.

What is it that makes one prepared? Is it tools? Foreknowledge? Experience?

Maybe things would have been different had this hit them during the day time. Or if these children had not assembled some time ago and _discussed_ this possibility, allotting themselves quite a bit of extra time to come to terms with ...this uncontrollable situation. Ninja did not know peace as generic man has defined it. A shinobi's peace still involved combat. And these children knew combat. But they did not know ...war. Where people died a whole lot quicker, a whole lot messier, and with a whole lot less acknowledgement. In war, loved ones were parted. Families were destroyed.

Which might be why it was the two orphans of the group that shot off into the distance immediately without hesitation, with enough force behind their thrust that the ground exploded with two bursts of soil as they took off. They had no family to worry about. 

And the girl, bubble-gum pink hair, shuriken still so lethal and sharp in her hand, more rational and intelligent than her teammates, had to pause for just a moment. Not to consider her own possible death approaching. But to ...send a silent message of love to her parents, wherever they were in the village.

And then she was off, too.

* * *

From Tsunade's vantage, one could see the entire enclosure of her domain.

A few flairs had been fired into the air, illuminating the south most border of the village with piercing blue, and to her ...it looked like a battle between opposing swarms of crickets. Small black shapes hopping and jumping around the rooftops and surrounding plant life like so many fleas. With most of the power generators taken out in that sector, the chemical-blue light dyed the busy activity of tiny battling ninja monochromatic, thin pegs of smoke were beginning to rise in a few areas like nails that had not been hammered in. The distant rumble of explosion, the little flares of fire looking like sparks ...

She knew the scene, and even at a distance she could judge which region would have the most screams. And knew what pitch and tone and intensity each voice was used from each attack, each jutsu, each clash ...

She could probably survive if she jumped from the Hokage monument she was currently stationed atop of. If she angled it right, she could probably clear the entire drop and land successfully on the raised platform erected for viewing of the monument.

She ...wanted ...to fight.

It was where her heart and soul belonged; her family was bred to be ferocious and lethal, and her blood was boiling with aggressive energy.

The sirens, positioned high on towers throughout the entire village, called to her. 

A Hokage, however, is _not_ chosen strictly for power or capability (thank god, or else Orochimaru _would_ have made it to the position.) At the moment, it was her duty to oversee the procedure, observe, and be the calm voice of reasoning giving orders to _her_ soldiers, out there fighting and playing their own part in the mechanics of the shinobi society. And keep as many alive as possible while doing it.

When she noted the dark shapes of foreign stealthy ninjas creeping discretely over the wall farther to the east, she was quick to command, "-need a small squad to reinforce territory to the east; possibly six unknown infiltrators-" and then, having to quickly amend before anyone got themselves killed, "-cancel that, a large platoon will be needed; it now looks like ...eighteen infiltrators. And more are coming-".

Binoculars were pressed so tightly against her eyes they would likely make a suctioned _pop_ when she moved them away.

Forcing her voice to stay calm when on the inside half-panicking, "-watch yourselves now! We have enemy archers, repeat, _enemy archers_ lining up to the west; some arrows look to be flaming; possibility of jutsu being worked on them. Take them out, but be careful!-"

The foam covering of her mouthpiece was moist with spittle from her shouting. It was almost ...like playing a video game, except it decided life and death. It was the only possible way to take on this responsibility. To get too emotional, too personal about who might specifically be out there fighting was simply too much.

"-sloppy formation around the sheep corrals, get your act together! There's a dozen or so enemies hiding in the clump of trees - no! The _other_ one! Yes, good, flush them out-"

Her transmissions were broadcasted on a coded, secure channel to every Konoha ninja that had been issued a headset. It would be impossible to issue one to _every_ shinobi in the village, but most Jounin had them, as did all Anbu and a few other elite ninja.

She was glad Jiraiya wasn't up here with her; he was worse than _her_ at keeping out of a conflict, though she did not currently know _where_ he was. He wasn't out there in the fracas, that was for sure. A few large toad heads would have popped up by now, or some of his colorful and frightfully effective Underworld techniques.

She actually had a feeling he was either on the other side of the wall, cutting the attack off at the knees... or he was _behind_ her, somewhere deep in the forested area atop the large plateau that granted the city so much natural protection. Insuring the enemy didn't attack from any other directions. In any event, he was likely doing something helpful, in his own bizarre only-works-if-Jiraiya-does-it way.

"-large group performing ritual against the wall; get out of there! _Get out of_-"

She paused, her lips slowly closing to the distant sound of a Chakra-based explosion. The ground beneath her trembled.

"... we have heavy losses against the perimeters; the wall has sustained heavy damage; ten foot diameter hole has been punctured. Reinforcements needed..."

Why hadn't they been better prepared? The whole village was responding so _sluggishly_; what had Sarutobi been doing all this time?!

She wondered where Naruto was, out there in that mess.

She wondered if, come the morning, she would get to reexperience the pain of being handed back her pendant. ("-_best you not look_-") And see the little familiar body with dark stains seeping through the shroud over his face. Perhaps she was looking to the quirky, socially inept little boy as a replacement for Miwaki; darling tenacious little Miwaki, dead and mangled Genin of at least two decades. But she couldn't stop herself.

_Don't die, you little brat_...

* * *

He was finally realizing the positive side to being the smallest ninja in the village.

Adults, especially when dealing with _other_ adults ...fail to look down.

Kunai in hand, he scurried through the tangle of battling bodies on all fours: hands and feet. It was easier, being barefoot. Head down; slicing at what portion of his enemy was most available: the legs. The feet. That significant little artery within the inner thigh. That glorious human flaw called the achilles tendon.

The startled comical yelps that erupted from his victims as he slashed his merry way could almost have made him _grin_ (score one for the trickster) if not for the wet, strangled sounds that followed shortly afterward. A ninja with injured legs cannot move very well, and subsequently they were rendered hardly more than sitting ducks.

This wasn't supposed to bother his conscience; a shinobi's heart was to remain firm and unyielding, keeping emotion inside.

He longed for his tough, heavy jacket. His shirt sleeve was sliced up to the shoulder, exposing a pretty decent wound where _some_ type of blade or another had done a fair job at carving him up. In the chaos, he couldn't recall when someone had taken a swipe at him... He wasn't squeamish by any means, but knowing that the growing slickness of moisture that was coating his upper arm was his own blood wasn't ...a good type of knowledge.

He didn't want to kill anyone.

He didn't want to fight like this.

He was scared and just a kid. All that. Y'know. Bastards.

The flairs that had been launched turned the world rather surreal; every surface the light touched was bleached a glowing white while every shadow had the dark intensity of a black hole of nonexistence.

An enemy finally noticed him down there by the ground and drove a boot rather firmly into his ribcage, sending him tumbling across the ground; by the time he recovered from the temporary vertigo (was he looking _up or down_ when he saw his feet?) he already found himself in a little group-battle, fighting along side a Leaf ninja he only recognized in an abstract, unfamiliar way. The two of their styles weren't necessarily incompatible, so they did reasonably well against the Sound ninja they were up against, and once again his size was to his advantage as, while his companion parried an attack and throwing the enemy's arms wide, he was small enough to step in _under_ the defenses and simply ...stab.

The stomach was called a vital area for a reason. There was no bones to get in the way.

A kunai went into the abdomen of a human far easier than it went into the abdomen of a wooden target-practice dummy. It was like puncturing a soggy burlap sack.

Somewhere between that particular mental comparison and the registration of the _sound_ that accompanied the thrust (like ripping leather), he lost most of his comprehensive powers, during which time he was fairly sure out of _reflex_ he'd conjured a couple dozen shadow clones but ...couldn't ...quite recall what he'd sent them off to do, and found himself once again scurrying on hand and foot at high speeds (was he running _toward_ or _away_ from something? He didn't quite ...)

He barely had the reaction time to slam the heel of his palms against the ground to avoid a sword that came slashing down, so close it almost cleaved the tip of his nose and _did_ successfully clip the last millimeter off his fingernails. To have reacted any slower it would have have been his neck.

Too close. Everything was happening on a split-second basis.

He utilized the cancelled momentum of his front end to send his back end into the air, hands still to the ground, legs sailing over head, allowing him the opportunity to plant both feet into his would-be beheader's crotch, and completed the arc by pushing off with his fingers and landing in a crouch, already swiping out a handful of shuriken, leaping backward to give himself space, hurling the razor sharp projectiles to cover his retreat just before his troop of yowling doppelgangers came roaring in, slicing and dicing with whistling kunai.

Oh. There his clones were.

The entire ordeal occurred in less than two seconds. It felt like an eternity. He might have to be doing this all night, on no sleep. Oh, _cripes_, this was going to take forever. Already his brain and nerves were feeling raw from over stimulation. The only things still ready and rearing to go were his Chakra and adrenal glands. (His adrenaline was right up there with his stamina; it was in a constant state of angry passion.)

Like a pack of piranha, his host of bunshin drifted off their victim like a lowering tide and rose in one mass over another rather startled enemy ninja, leaving behind an ...unmoving body, poked full of so many holes it would put a whiffle ball to shame.

Never before had it been so clear exactly why the Art of the Doppelganger was kept hidden away in a forbidden scroll.

It was ...formidable.

He didn't have much time to stand back and just watch his little army do their work, standing in the middle of a battlefield as he was; in a kind of dazed way he was aware of quite a few exchanges with random foreign shinobi that happened across him; it was so quick; precious fractions of a second were used to confirm friend from foe, just enough time for the brain to say '-hey, _that's_ not a Konoha headband-' followed by a blur of moving fists, feet and steel. A few times he even had the interesting experience of running face-first into someone's stomach without being able to clearly define where it came from (and sometimes hadn't even been able to say where it _went_.) 

... somewhere back there he must have been punched in the face because he was distinctly aware of a split lip.

Wincing, he paused for a moment, throwing his back against a wall partially out of the way to inspect a rather raw sensation only to find not only his fingernails had been hacked off but so the first millimeter of his _fingertips_.

_Aw, crap_.

A tall lady came crashing up against the wall beside him and the two of them exchanged bewildered glances before the recognition of '_enemy!_' hit them both simultaneously.

Too close to draw weapons, the lady was quicker than him, whipping one hand out to snag a fist full of his shirt front, her other drawing back in a fist where he had the super-zoom instant of clarity where he recognized the metallic gleam of brass knuckles. He was thinking '-_that could knock some teeth loose_-' before (what else was there to do, really?) sinking his teeth into her thumb, which happened to be the nearest of the digits holding his shirt. 

She yelped, and he took advantage of her surprise by grabbing a hold of her wrist, twisting his other arm up hers to hold her still, jerking her down closer to his level while he slammed his knee up as hard as he could into the back of her elbow. It was an elementary attack from his academy days ("-_are all going to be learning offensive holds today. As a reminder, these are strictly for combat situations and should not be used on younger brothers or sist_-"), but the classics are taught for a reason.

The snap of bone was distinct, and he ran like hell as the lady howled.

He was a pretty successful prankster, he could perform most jutsu with relative ease (or at least a good _substitute_ jutsu), but he had ...lacking combat skills, when it was boiled down.

Living alone creates many obvious detriments to one's development: proper speech, social interaction, monetary issues. Without anyone there to say "_Do your homework_!" or "_Practice your jutsu_!" there can be little advancement unless one is not entirely self-motivated. But it also limited his experience with simply ...fighting. There is a lack of sparring partner, a lack of critique. He could learn incredibly fast when he wanted to, and had a special knack for learning the hard way. But he needed an _experience_ to learn from _first_.

So he was trying to learn as he went; turn this battle into his own little classroom. (Oh, how Iruka-sensei would be near tears of laughter.)

He was very bloody by now. And a considerable amount of this blood was his own.

Learn from the sting, the bite. Learn now, on your toes, or just go ahead and die.

There were a few shuriken lodged in his back where he couldn't reach them, pinning his shirt in place. He'd pulled an arrow out of his leg, having no idea where it came from; there wasn't time to trace the source; a row of kunai very suddenly were lining up across his chest, over his shoulder and down his arm; their impacts made his body jerk. Most were stopped by bone, so didn't get to travel in too deep.

Pulling them out with likely unbecoming yips and snarls, he noted a small group of Leaf ninjas struggling, and conjured another legion of clones to surge into the brawl. The enemies started screaming.

A kunai skewered the ground right between his toes -- ah, his infamous good luck! An inch off and that would have crippled him!

Without time to dwell, he was defending himself against a rather husky giant of a man swinging a double-sided battle axe. He was sure there were a few good one-liners he could have used on the guy (his shirt was unbuttoned to show off his incredible paunch which was _not_ flattering) but was a little too pressed for reaction time. It wasn't long before his swarm of clones roared in to defend him, allowing him to take a deep breath and try to recover the last shreds of his waning _sanity_ before planting a shuriken into each of the giant's eyes (hysteria insisted it was ...almost fun watching the behemoth lumber off, roaring and fumbling in his blindness.)

For a while he traveled as a pack with his flock of look-alikes, running amok in the streets, flanking him on all sides to protect him from the majority of attacks.

If he were to claim any true expertise, it would be in Kage Bunshin. Art of the Doppelganger.

Though the jutsu _was_ rare, he certainly wasn't the only one capable of performing it. He was just the only one to milk the technique for all of its worth, ("-_your favorite jutsu_-" Neji had called it.) As a result, his experience with the many possible _uses_ of a clone went unmatched. They made for battering rams and sling shots and springboards, they were good personal substitutes, they increased one's number, they watched one's back, they were another set of hands and eyes. And they had no fear of death, because essentially they were all just extensions of their creator; like weapons.

It took a while to get used to; they all shared the same mind, which was a great asset as once a plan was conceived no time had to be spent explaining it. Once one became accustomed to thinking '-and then I hit there, while another me goes around to the back, after which another me comes in on the front-' it's a pretty interesting attack formation.

And most of all, they were so many bodies ready to be sacrificed at any time in his defense. 

He traveled with his swarm, instantly encompassing a rather tall enemy ninja with a mostly-masked face.With mind on 'Multiple Me Mode', he had a clone jab a kunai into the back of the man's knee; the ninja was quick to slam the heal of his good leg into the copy's head, crushing its skull before it erupted in a puff of smoke -- there, distraction accomplished.

He sent in three more clones.

It must be interesting to fight a group of kage bunshin, because though in three separate bodies their shared mind allowed them the type of cooperation and _teamwork_ no group of _individuals_ could ever compete with. They were a single life-form, segmented into three bodies, with six arms, six legs, six eyes, and three heads.

Turning away from the ensuing carnage, he left his host to do their thing, trying to seclude himself for a moment, summoning one more copy to pluck the pointy items lodged in his back before he started healing _around_ them.

After a pause, it said, "Dude, there's a kunai stuck pretty deep back here, too..."

Teeth gritted, he growled, "Just ...pick it out."

"You're the boss." And, one hand placed against his shoulder for leverage, the ringed hilt of the weapon was seized and, in one hard jerk, he could actually _feel_ the shape of the blade as it was removed. As though fleeing from the sight, the clone vanished into a cloud of mist.

He staggered and leaned against the wall, aware that a few more of his copies were also vanishing out there while his Chakra was being sucked into the wound. He stood for a while, kunai in a defensive position incase he was attacked in his more vulnerable situation, waiting for his system to adjust.

Since he wasn't passing out from exhaustion, it was a pretty good sign he just needed a quiet moment to recover.

They called him a stamina freak.

He took it as a compliment.

He had no absolute defense like Neji or Gaara. Actually, with his lacking defenses he was _likely_ to be hit by most attacks thrown at him.

But his power didn't lay in defense. He'd been able to beat _both_ of the well-fortified Genin through something else, something which didn't necessarily involve his unique, multi-tailed resident. His bottomless pit of power was merely a compliment to his _best_ quality as a warrior.

His unfettered and impossibly resilient will.

He was too stubborn to go down.

He was injured.

Okay. Whatever.

His body had already stopped the bleeding and was working on knitting the hole back together.

Great. Now get back in there.

He pelted back into the fray, "Kage bunshin no jutsu!"

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

Mm... I normally don't like author's notes (especially self-endorsing ones), but since I've been asked a few times: Yes, I do plan on eventually illustrating this series. For now, I have begun delving into more generic Naruto fanart (getting accustomed to the characters and whatnot...) And my first few finished projects, as always, can be viewed from my website.

Ah... also, I do want to express appreciate to the reviewers. I try not to let myself become dependent on feedback ("try" not to *grimace*), but I have to admit it honestly does fuel the flames of ambition and creativity. So... thanks. I'm glad others enjoy reading this story's development as much as I enjoy writing it.

Hope the fun continues through the many twists and turns I have planned for this series...


	6. Part Six

**Transition Anchor  
Part Six**

Of all the Genin she knew, Sakura had not expected herself to be fighting alongside the two Hyuga heirs.

Truthfully, she hadn't expected _them_ to be fighting together at all. She had only seen rivalry between them in the past. Bitterness. What she had failed to recall however, for all her genius, was that for whatever personal grudges Hinata and Neji had for one another, it was still Neji Hyuga's personal obligation to protect his cousin with life and limb. It was the duty of his lineage.

And for whatever character flaws they had in fiber of confidence and hope, they were an amazingly lethal duet. For them to stand back to back, Byakugan exposed, there line of sight possessed no flaws, and no opponent within a five foot radius stood a fighting chance.

Sakura took advantage of this scenario, mostly playing part as an extended arm of the Hyuga duo.

"There are four Sound-nin hiding three houses south; one is using Henge to look like a bush; one has a sword with a two-foot sweep. Their defenses are weakest at their northeastern side. Sakura, you're closest. Use shuriken." Neji's observations were usually more precise than Hinata's.

"I'm on it." Sakura said, taking to the roof tops, accompanied by a few extra foot steps.

She was not the only Konoha Genin to have joined in their unit. She knew Shino and Kiba were within ear shot of Hinata, who warned them often of approaching stealthy attackers. Tenten, too, was spotted a few times, keeping mostly to the air where she had a broader range of available targets, hurling a vast collection of sharp projectiles into vital portions of enemy anatomy.

The teams ...were staying together.

On the way here, she'd seen Ino and her boys doing their own thing up the street with a relative degree of success.

So, she had to ask herself ...where was _her_ team?

_Teamwork_, Kakashi-sensei had drilled into them. _Teamwork is the key to survival._

... though more recently, he'd only been saying with less force, "... _**where's** the teamwork?_"

She darted from shadow to shadow, practicing her developing genjutsu to limit her visibility in the warped and distant light of the flares, blaring off by the distant village wall. At this distance from the more dense action, there were also many still-active street lights, completing a very eerie setting. With the stealthiness of the ninja, even in mid battle, to look down the street it almost looked ..._normal_.

Whipping a few shuriken as Neji had suggested, indeed a team of enemy were flushed out, and her hair whipped in her face as Kiba and Akamaru went whizzing past her to chase them down.

Where ...was _her_ team?

She continued to afford a decent amount of her attention searching for signs of Sasuke. His curse seal went berserk in mid-battle. Was he dealing with it now? Was it consuming him?

...was he gleefully killing people?

She thought her peripherals caught a brief glimpse of him darting through an ally, flying from wall to opposing wall like a pinball, but she noted a few suspicious shapes in the opposite direction and duty had her chasing after them. As a Konoha shinobi, with her forehead proudly exhibiting the leaf symbol, it was her main priority to secure the safety of the Konoha village, and defend it to the last breath.

Naruto was also nowhere to be found and she had the sinking feeling he would have gone straight to the front rather than flank the battlegrounds as was _typically_ suggested of Genin, creating a second line of defense to insure whatever invaders made it past the first line didn't press any farther.

A loosed blade (she couldn't recognize it; one-sided, it looked like a kitchen knife) whizzed past her, carving a nice hole through her pant leg and thigh. Reacting instantly, pinpointing the direction it had come from, she sent a barrage of shuriken. The satisfying series of moist thunks that followed insured her they found their target.

She dashed to higher ground, disliking the surreal knowledge that she and Ino had gotten ice cream in the store she was now on the roof of. She knew she was making a target of herself when she stepped up on the corner of the rooftop and gazed out, trying to see if she could spy Sasuke out there. He was wearing mostly black, which would make him hard to spot in the dark ...trying to see maybe a flash of the pale skin of his legs or ...

She wanted to collapse as a helpless question dawned on her:

_How was this any different from their behavior the first day they became ninja_?

Sasuke had instantly isolated himself from his comrades to eliminate the possibility of distraction.

Naruto had charged off alone to single handedly tackle a task fit for a whole team ...

...and she ...was still wasting her time trying to find Sasuke.

Was this how far they had come? Was this the extent of her team's development, after everything they had gone through, the many tribulations and moments of revelation between the three of them ...

No. She at least had the comfort of certainty there. No, they had come a long way; there had been many times they had worked together perfectly. It was only recently that something made their connection degrade.

Something had happened between her boys. Something no one was willing to explain to her. Sasuke ignored her when she asked; Kakashi-sensei gave useless and evasive answers ("-_something going on between them? Definitely. There's always something going on between everyone. Just the other day I-_") And as for asking Naruto ...Her control over that boy had weakened considerably. There had once been a time when he would stab himself in the face if he thought she'd like him more for it. Ino had even suggested she try _getting_ him to, during one of the few times they weren't arguing about Sasuke. 

...having been in mean mood, she'd even considered doing so.

Yet another thing that had inexplicably changed, at least in Naruto; somewhere between first becoming Genin and now, she had become less and less of a priority to him as more important tasks arose. Sakura knew she should be happy about the change but ...She sort of missed it. Not having had many people attracted to her, she wouldn't have thought a pesky nuisance would ...be such an ego booster.

From her vantage, she noted a shadow slightly darker than the others and nailed it with a kunai, watching as it materialized into the shape of a body.

Naruto complained often about not being informed of everything going on but passing time was showing he also seemed to be keeping a few details about himself hidden. His unnaturally deep well of power, doing more things he should have been physically incapable of than _Sasuke_ ...And someone else aside from Kakashi was teaching him, too. No one said anything about it, but ...no one said anything at all. Sometimes she hated the ninja code of personal secrecy.

Actually, Sakura was convinced she was the only member of her group without any important secrets _to_ hide. She was just ...plain ...Sakura. Her skills were adequate but unextraordinary. Her family were neither powerful nor weak, neither famous nor insignificant. They ranked steadily at Chuunin level, neither less nor more. They sacrificed for the sake of the mission but made no excessively important impacts to the Konoha history.

It ran in the blood. She didn't _have_ a tragic family history like Sasuke. Or an increasingly-mysterious blank past like Naruto.

The difference between her and her teammates went far beyond gender and power. They were simply _wired_ differently.

Her style of life, existence as she knew it, was having less and less of a meaning to them, as they strove onward toward their unrealistic goals. She was _losing_ them to something intangible and cosmic.

"S-Sakura-san, behind!" Hinata's yell caught her attention and she dove to the left, clipping her shoulder on the ground and rolling into a workable crouch, a progression of _thnk-thnk-thnk-thnk_ following her, a row of kunai lining up along the shingled roof like a picket fence.

She ...could _not_ function with the woes of her team gobbling up precious cognitive space in her mind. They were slowing her down when they weren't even _her_ problems.

If Sasuke and Naruto could function through their troubles, she at least owed it to them to do so as well.

Neji barked at her, "Two targets approaching you, Sakura -- three o'clock."

She leapt to the ground and yanked a katana out of an unmoving body on the street below, swallowing the solid lump of bile in her throat, and turned to engage.

* * *

The invasion ended in a surprisingly swift fashion.

With the phosphorescent gaze of the flares having long since burned out, the final few hours of the battle were waged in the awkward darkness of early morning, during which time participants were allowed to rest their bodies somewhat (enemies were harder to locate and identify, thus less combat was occurring) as the heart and nerves took up the slack with increasing levels of _anxiety_.

_Fear_ of attack, coming from an unseen direction.

Ninja battles are silent.

...except the roaring tide of increasingly shredded and bloody Doppelgangers. They were a relentless source of action. Enemies had no difficulty locating them and they had no difficulty meeting said enemies head on. He was constantly berated for it, but for reasons he could not articulate he'd always preferred the direct approach.

However, as the first offensively refreshing strokes of the morning sun began to illuminate the topmost portion of ruined houses, burned and broken treetops, punctured ancient wood of the surround village wall, the hoard of foreign shinobi_ retreated_ by some unspoken signal. They abandoned wounded comrades, abandoned spoil, stopping in mid-strike to simply turn and streak out the many smoking exits now made available.

With the crisp new sun lending its talent, the battlefield was made clear.

Limping through the destruction, Naruto was aware of a very powerful, strangely sacred and forbidding stillness.

There were many ...shapes texturing the ground, slowly developing color out of the abating darkness.

That was a hand, palm-down to the cobblestone. No wrist or arm to accompany it.

What his brain was trying to register as a patch of tall grass was actually a series of sword tips stuck up out of a torso.

He was annoyed to find himself whistling through only one nostril, the other too clogged, nose decidedly runny. Going to reflexively wipe it, he found it bloody and unpleasantly swollen. Shoot, he didn't want to deal with a broken nose right now.

There wasn't a portion of his known anatomy that wasn't sore. He was getting a good breeze through the tattered remains of his unsalvageable shirt. His pants were going to be needing a good number of patches. The bare soles of his feet felt raw, as though he'd been strolling over broken glass; his palms were burnt and tender from performing a few rushed Rasengen.

He was ...

...utterly ...

...exhausted.

One eye open (the other pasted shut with clumps of drying blood in his eyelashes) he half-leaned, half-collapsed against what had once been the stone wall of a farm house, and gazed out upon the unreal landscape of angular arms and legs jutting up from the soil, listening as low moans began to respond to the sunlight (or perhaps they'd been groaning all this time and he only now had enough attention to spare for them.) Among the fallen were a number of men still standing, still as pillars.

He observed a few heads poke tentatively out of a nearby window. Apparently his limp-wristed wave of greeting was not enough to comfort them, and they withdrew.

Medics began to filter into the destruction, slinking from alleys, down cluttered and gory streets, adventuring into the smoldering trees, kneeling at the sides of the recognizably Konoha casualties, inspecting them, shining flashlights into their eyes, putting fingertips to their necks, lowering ears to their faces. They traveled in groups of two and three, slowly bringing a more mellow commotion back to the dreary world. Performing emergency surgery, giving orders, pointing fingers, one or two assistants keeping back with clipboard in hand to take down names, instructions, requests, needed supplies.

Konoha did not have terribly many qualified medical ninjas. They had many doctors and _regular_ medics, it was true, but shinobi skilled in use of Chakra to induce rapid healing were in short supply and high demand.

There were also many times that, after a few vain moments of inspection, a doctor would shake his head and turn a body onto its back, folding both arms (if both were still attached) and would place their Konoha headbands across their chests to signal they were beyond the point of no return.

Stretchers were unfolded and laid out to transport casualties to the hospital and, when the hospital had filled up, to the many homes that had volunteered to house wounded.

It was very systematic. Not a man above twenty was unfamiliar with the post-battle procedure; the remaining wounded enemy were dragged, kicked, slid, rolled and thrown into a cluster. The higher ranked among them were sorted out to receive medical treatment and then questioning. The rest were killed.

He heard no song birds this morning, instead came a distant cawing. A murder of crows was approaching, drawn to the potential feast of slain quarry.

"-you see? I told you I saw him in this area." Turning, he recognized the approaching voice of Lee and Neji's instructor, Gai as they called him. Mr. Fuzzybrow as he personally recognized the man.

And striding beside him, "Hm. Naruto. I saw quite a few of your clones scampering about. You're getting pretty proficient with those." Kakashi-sensei. His own supposed instructor.

"Yo...," he greeted wearily, raising a palm and grinning through the less-puffy side of his mouth.

The man had tugged his forehead protector back down over his unmatching eye, "So ...How are you doing? Anything important broken?"

He curled either arm, patted down his legs, his chest, looking back up, "Don't think so." 

"Have all your fingers and toes?"

He checked, "Pretty much..."

"And all your teeth?"

He probed mouth with tongue, taking inventory, "Yeah."

"Then congratulations," his sensei gave his tender scalp a rough tousling, "You've survived your first battle intact." Fingers closed around a fistful of tangled hair, pulling him forward, stooping to meet him eye to eye(s), "But next time, stay in the _fringes_ of the battle-zone with the other Genin. The _fringes_. Geez."

"Heh ...," he replied weakly. After all the fighting, the close proximity was less tolerable than normal and he batted the Jounin's hand away, "Is Sakura-chan okay? Have you seen her yet?"

The single eye was scrutinizing him, "Well. She looks better off than you ..."

(-_she always has-_), he paused, looking down for a moment, considering not asking but needing to know, "... n' Sasuke?"

The man shrugged, straightening his posture and scratching his jaw, "Also fine." He didn't move to help when the boy sank a little lower against the wall, "Are you going to collapse?"

The response _almost_ came out as "Go to hell!" before he caught it and said, "No way." If he got swatted for sass at the moment, he might not be able to get back up again. And wouldn't _that_ be embarrassing ...

"Go ahead and find your teammates, then." Kakashi glanced to Gai, "I've got more to do, but maybe when I'm finished we can all go out for ramen." He grinned, "I'm not-"

"Not buying, yeah, yeah." Naruto murmured, walking past the man without bothering to say anything else, rolling head between shoulders, shaking out hands, sore from tightly gripping various weapons for the better portion of the night.

He hadn't slept in almost twenty four hours. Jamming fists in pockets as he trudged, he realized this was definitely a time he was angry with Kakashi. Enough that he wanted to turn around and spit at him.

The worst part: he couldn't put to words exactly why. He trusted the man with his life; he knew Kakashi was one of the few adults that didn't hold his abnormal origins against him. And yet ...It was ...like ...

Ah ...shoot.

He was tired, hurt, cold, bloody and didn't want to go to the hospital because he didn't feel like putting himself into debt -- there was no loaning agency that would front him the money to pay for the visit. He'd already tried a few times in the past and been rejected; something about credit that he didn't really understand ... Looked like he would have to head home sometime soon to break out his well-used medical kit and depend on his own crappy first aid skills.

There was movement suddenly. The _familiar movement_ of a body rolling over at his feet, of its own will -- the world went into fast forward.

The body jerked, sat up; the sound of nails on a chalkboard -- a sword being drawn -- body no longer beneath him, standing, the blurred silver arc of a swinging motion; something tugged hard at his shirt, no, at the skin of his stomach, but other things held his attention. He was looking into a face with one ruined eye, his little fist pressed deep under the cavity of the jawbone, a kunai gripped in the center of it, the blade turned upward, buried to the hilt somewhere in ...the head. Deep enough to puncture the eyeball from within.

The man was dead, tears of blood leaking from that one horrible eye. It was the first time he'd ... actually really killed someone ... and it was so quick ... 

"Ung," in revulsion, he went to pull the blade out but it was stuck in the jaw bone; jerking the hilt downward made the mouth open, allowing him to see the metallic gleam of his weapon on the inner side of the dead man's teeth.

The warm, wet feeling -- panic. Shock, mouth opening to scream but something was swollen in his throat, filling it up, just as he could feel something solid and squishy fill the hand he had pressed against his abdomen.

Oh ...ooh, crap. That wasn't ...was ...

His knees hit the ground but he didn't remember falling, only finding himself looking up at the sky, _the damn blue sky_, and then the silhouette of Kakashi-sensei was leaning over him, trying to pull his hands away from his stomach ...he ...what? His head and shoulders were resting on Gai's knees, though he didn't know the man had been behind him, and Kakashi was grabbing his wrists and was shouting at him, "Get your hands out of the way! I have to see it! Naruto, hold still, let me see-"

The boy was aware the desperate mantra of "Don't touch it, _don't touch it!!_" was coming from himself, and he was looking into the upside down shape of Gai's head...

They ... 

They didn't understand. They didn't understand. He could _feel_ the speed of his heart through the throbbing mass pressing into his palms. Why ... didn't ... this hurt? He had no feeling; he couldn't sit up to better see what had happened to him; the muscles in his stomach were not responding. He could feel ...that the back of his shirt was now soaking and sticky. When finally his hands were pried away and pinned to his sides he had the sensation of something more solid than blood begin to ooze its way out of the wound.

On first sight, his brain was quick to associate the sound and texture of this escaping mass: ramen.

The slurping sound of intestine was just like that of ramen noodles squishing together. 

If his abdominal muscles were working at that time, he would have thrown up.

Neither of the men hovering over him were saying anything. It was too quiet; they were looking, and his insides were making suction-sounds and he could hear his own breathing; hyperventilating, like the erratic series of gasps a child makes after crying, painful convulsions of the diaphragm. His wrists were hurting and he wondered if Kakashi was meaning to push all his weight down on them.

Rising panic, "...Sensei?"

Both of his hands were lifted and pressed back against the wound and his teacher was instructing, voice calmer now, casual and aloof as ever, "Hold it like that, Naruto. Don't move; just hold it like that."

The pressure was enough to cause whatever was adventuring out of his stomach to slurp back inside where it belonged.

The Jounin were still looking at each other over the shape of the prone student.

"Kakashi." The weathered and stony tone Gai used was one rarely heard. Gone were his robust jibes, his playful and energetic manner.

This wasn't rivalry anymore.

No one wanted to be the first sensei to lose a pupil.

The man didn't respond to his name, still looking critically downward. He had ...simply ...done this too many times. With too many past comrades. There was no shock left to be had; were a second enemy to attack, he had all his mental facilities rational and functioning, remaining fully capable of reacting to most given situations in an appropriate, logical way. He felt neither weary nor withdrawn.

"Kakashi." Gai said again, and though Kakashi knew what his fellow Jounin was going to say, being realistic, he still didn't want to hear it.

"Kakashi, get a medic."

That ...wasn't what he'd been expecting. Searching the other's face, he tried to see if the man knew something he did not, but found nothing. Though he did not believe in deluding children nor protecting them from painful information, with the desperate entirely-conscious blue eyes staring up at him, he couldn't find it in him to argue.

"Right," he said, and vanished.

A moment later, he had returned with a squat sturdy woman with a considerable amount of blood on her hands and freckles on every visible portion of her body; upon assessing the situation, she only muttered, "This 'im?"

When she kneeled at his side, Naruto had enough discernment to utter, "I don't know her." He tried rolling way whatever limited space he could with Gai holding his shoulders. A deep guttural cough rasped out; dislodging the clots of blood layering the lining of his throat. "H-hey, sensei, I don't _know_ this lady ..."

But Kakashi was remaining silent, so the only answer came from the woman herself, "Quite yammering. Hold still." She seemed rather irritated, and after wrestling the boy's hands out of the way, she stared for only a moment before standing back up again, brushing off her spattered clothes, "Kakashi, I don't know what you're wasting my time for; there's nothing that can be done for this wound. A shinobi with your status had to have known it was fatal as soon as you laid eyes on it." She went to a pouch at her hip, pulling out a tub of pills, "Here's painkillers, either way, if you think he'll need 'em for the road."

To the boy, she was the dark shadow of ugliness. His peripherals were already overtaken by opaque and unpleasant shapes, and he was no longer able to feel his feet, or his hands, really. Something was horribly amiss; hysteria was quivering in his brain, his shoulders; something was ... throbbing. Like a sound, only it was a feeling.

He ...hated this woman.

She and the Jounin were looking down, and barely visible through the remaining shirt-shreds and blood was the dark outline of the Nine Tail's seal, "Hm. Make sure the body's properly taken care of by the Hunter-nin. Powerful jutsu could be gleaned if it fell into the wrong hands." With one more curious glance, she shook her head, "Well. Suppose this is the end of all the fuss. 'S a waste, I guess, though I know a few people that will be pretty happy." Eyeing the battlefield, she searched for signs of life, turned, and began to walk away.

One small hand fell to the blood-mingled dirt; fist fixing around a clod of mud, snatched it up and _hurled_ it at the back of the woman's head with considerable force. It hit with a _thunk_ and stuck to her short hair in a cake.

"_You're incompetent!_"

Three pairs of incredulous eyes swung down as the boy was propping himself up on one elbow, the other arm securely wrapped around his stomach.

His face red from screaming; a vein standing out, lips drawn back to bear teeth, "I'm _not_ dying, you _stupid hag_!" He was shouting with enough force that flecks of red were coming out along with the words, "Go on! Go away!_ I wouldn't want your help anyway!_" What was thought to be a growl following the statement turned out to be a gurgle; his face was contorted with more than just rage. Pain had to have been evident.

Bent over, Kakashi was crouched beside him, "Naruto." There was a sick amount of humor in this scene, and sometime soon someone was going to end up laughing, because it was too sad. Of all his Genin, he simply hadn't expected ... 

One eye hazed over, the other looking in a slightly different direction from its counterpart, the boy latched a hold on his sensei's vest, "J-just watch, Kakashi-sensei! I just ...need to ..." Using the other man as leverage, he managed to hoist himself up to a sitting position, Gai numbly helping him, folding nearly in half, knees drawn up. "Heh ...heh heh," He was whispering, frantic and confidential, a mangled grin twisting half his mouth, almost gleefully observing his abdomen, "I just have to ...get my_ lazy tenant_ ... to pull his _weight_ a little ..."

Gai and Kakashi, both kneeling close enough around Naruto that they practically enveloped him from sight, met eyes over his blonde head. A quiet understanding, concern, fear ...confirmation. Resignation.

The boy was murmuring too quiet to hear, and leaning nearer it was found he was talking downward, not to any of them. Muttering, hardly audible, "... stupid fox ...g't off yer ... nine-tailed butt ...you wanna _die_? ..."

Both men, somewhat startled, glancing around in insure the post-battle necessities were keeping the shinobi nearby distracted, now leaned in to _intentionally_ hide the Genin from view as his Chakra was beginning to take a sharp turn; no longer fluttering and frantic like a trapped bird, it was _swelling_, rising like dough ...

Morbidly curious, the boy tugged at the damp material obstructing his view, "... hey, sensei ...uh ...can't see it ...would you ...?"

Hands steady in comparison, expression one of reservation and ice, Kakashi deftly slipped a kunai from an unknown source and sliced open the ragged shirt front, peeling away what was sticking to the blood. The seal was distorted, sliced diagonally across the center, just beneath the naval. With the flesh opened like a book, the fatty tissue was exposed, creating a yellow and white frame around the pink and brown workings of the living organism. A nearing-hysteric chortle came from the boy at the sight.

Hands balling, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back until it bumped into Gai's chest, stifling the chuckle into a whimper of _strain_, and the rising tide of abnormal heat radiating off of him was notably becoming focused, pulled from the extremities, the unnecessary limbs, and pooled into the abdomen, hot enough that it seemed to cauterize the wound, stopping it's bleeding.

At first it appeared the fatty tissue was _melting_, like wax; the globules liquifying and spilling into the deepest recesses of the wound. But then it was solidifying, turning pink, _transforming_ into muscle mass, new veins formed, spider webbing across the the jagged and uneven plane like cracking glass, filling the developing flesh with oxygen-enriched blood cells. You could see them pumping. The forming flesh rose like a tide, creeping higher and closer to the normal level of skin; pulling together the two lips of the wicked mouth.

The skin around the gash was darkening in color. And blistering. The heat was too intense, the power too _raw_ for precise controlling in his current condition. 

Though still quite deep, a series of black stripes were appearing inside the developing meat, linking one side of the halved seal with the other, putting it back together.

The remaining pools of blood what had formed in the naval cavity and the sunken portion of the diaphragm were beginning to sizzle and boil. The boy was keening, lips turned inward and pressed together, biting down to keep from crying out, brows wrinkling tight over clenched eyes; his entire form was trembling; the tendons in his hands were standing out as they pulled tighter and tighter...

It was Kakashi that decided enough was enough. Putting a hand on the boy's shoulder he gave him a good shake, "That's it, Naruto. Stop now. You're starting to burn yourself. Anymore could damage other organs."

Only one eye opened, and it was not blue, "B-but ...it's not-" Voice breaking and cracking; through the lips a set of very sharp teeth could be viewed.

"It's not fatal anymore." The man said, "Stop it. We can take it from here."

A dry sobbing sound of relief, the boy looked over the shoulder of his sensei where the medical woman was now peering down at him, having edged closer for a better look. Her face was white. She'd seen a lot of strange things, but never ...this was ...

The contorted and red face barely resembled that of Uzumaki Naruto, bloody, pained, enraged. And grinning to show canines, "_Told_ you I wasn't dying ..."

At which point, his crimson slitted iris drifted backward, under his lids, until only the whites of his eyes remained. Strained and unable to sustain anymore consciously. 

"He ...," the woman attempted to confirm. "Those eyes. Did ...you see?" 

Kakashi leaned back on his haunches, and made a deep moaning sigh, a slow shake of his head, working fingertips up his face to scrub each eye socket, venturing up beneath his headband. "Well, you're a medic, right? You can go ahead and patch him up now."

Numbly, her hands drifted to her bag of supplies, eyes still glued to the unmoving and decidedly small shape of her patient-become. "... y-yeah ..."

* * *

To be continued. 


End file.
